


Waking in Winter

by natkate



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azgeda Clarke Griffin, Azgeda!Clarke, F/F, Let's just see how this goes, No Skaikru, Soulmates, badass!clarke, pre-Coalition, sassy!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:35:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natkate/pseuds/natkate
Summary: In the wake of Clarke Griffin finally coming of age in Queen Nia's army, she is chosen to accompany the queen's caravan on an unprecedented visit to the capitol city of Polis - upon the whisper of rumor or yet another mind game, Clarke can't be sure.Regardless, Clarke is met with a number of unexpected twists as the very city, itself, threatens to challenge everything she'd ever known about the world around her.ORAU where Clarke is an Ice Nation warrior in Nia's army who stumbles into a pre-Coalition Polis and causes trouble, as usual. Oh, and Skaikru isn't a thing in this story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been bouncing around in my head for quite some time now, and I figured I'd go ahead and put metaphorical pen to paper while I'm in between updates for ITSS.  
> I'm a sloot for Azgeda!Clarke of any kind, so consider this yet another self-indulgent brainchild of mine.
> 
> Hope you enjoy (:

Clarke hated warm weather.

It made her feel heavier, slimier, and it was enough to put her in the _foulest_ of moods.

It didn’t help that everything was so _green,_ either – the leaves, the grass, even the _water_ in some places. It wasn’t a natural shade of green in Clarke’s opinion, everything seeming to practically vibrate with a type of life that was as foreign to her as it seemed to be to her cohorts who murmured varying degrees of discontent all around her.

Growing restless for more reasons than one, Clarke huffed a heavy sigh, shucking her fur coat from her shoulders with clipped movements and letting it melt into the saddle all around her. The moment her torso was free of its weight, Clarke couldn’t help but feel oddly naked in the warm light despite the layers of interwoven cloth and armor that still remained on her person.

“I’m surprised you lasted this long,” the wry voice of Ontari spoke up from somewhere off to the right, the warrior sidling her horse up to match Clarke’s pace in the next moment. Clarke spared the hint of a grimace at the girl, noting how Ontari’s bare shoulders gleamed with sweat in the beading sunlight.

“Yeah, well,” Clarke shrugged minimally, gaze fixed back on the road in front of them once more, “I’m not trying to die of heat exhaustion on the road before one of the Commander’s guards can do the job for me, so.” Ontari scoffed, shaking her head in Clarke’s periphery.

“They’ll have to get in line.”

With that, the girl spurred her horse on, making a show of thundering past Clarke and the rest of the small group of warriors traveling in the middle of the herd.

Clarke rolled her eyes, simultaneously amused and disheartened by the fact that Ontari could hold a grudge as steadfastly as she continued to. After all, it’d been _one_ sparring session roughly _two_ months ago – the first of what felt like _thousands_ throughout their lives training together that Clarke had handily won.

Granted, Queen Nia had been present for this particular occasion, checking the progress of her warriors now come of age for battle, but _still_ …

When all was said and done, though, it didn’t surprise Clarke in the slightest that Ontari had reacted in the way that she had – what with storming out of the fighting pen without a word only to catch Clarke by surprise later that night and sock her soundly in the jaw. Ontari had always had somewhat of a _sinister_ sort of temper – the kind that kept most warriors from even _attempting_ to raise a dulled practice blade to her – and Clarke was disgruntled to find herself at the mercy of it far more often than she’d like.

None of that mattered now, though – not when Clarke’s horse was finally making its way up the steep grassy incline that marked the outer perimeter of Polis. The shouts of the warriors at the front of their group indicated that they were to wait at the crest of the hill for the queen’s command, to fan out over the hillside so as best to flaunt their numbers to the watchdogs doubtlessly ogling them from the city gates some ways off.

Clarke did as she was told, halting her horse at the peak of the incline, doing her best to school her most-likely awestruck expression into something more fitting of a seasoned warrior as she looked upon the capitol city for the first time in her life.

The entire city seemed to Clarke as if it were sitting at the bottom of a giant bowl, a range of mountains forming the backdrop of a landscape bordered by hills and leafy canopies on all sides. A massive wall made of some sort of wood was erected nearly three-hundred paces down the hill from where the group of warriors were stopped, the structure cutting through the natural wilderness for miles in both directions where it framed the entirety of the city. Clarke could make out the smallest hint of a river beyond a far-off western portion of the wall in front of them, and she made a mental note to make her way over to the body of water at some point in her visit – if she could manage it, of course.

“My beloved warriors!” Queen Nia’s booming voice snapped Clarke to attention, straining to catch a glimpse of the woman situated on her horse at the bottom of the hill, surrounded by those she favored. “This occasion marks the first in many a year that any member of our great nation has graced the capitol with our presence… Let our hands remain steady and our hearts true as we show these children what it is like to stand face-to-face with the likes of _true_ strength, a people without mercy!” Raucous cheers erupted all around, many warriors brandishing their swords in the air and beating their chests in excitement. Clarke remained unmoved, the corner of her mouth ticking up slightly from the sheer proximity to such blood-thirsty joy.

“Let us give the little girl what she wants – let us march! To peace, to a _better tomorrow!”_

Clarke couldn’t help but crack a fully-crooked smile then as the rest of the horde laughed, appreciating the queen’s flare for drama in using the Commander’s own words – those that’d been made quite a mockery of on the lips of Azgeda warriors – to spur forward those who only ever brought the very opposite of peace, better.

She’d be the first to admit that she wasn’t much for politics, preferring the pace of battle to that of diplomacy purely for the rush of adrenaline it brought her. So, at the very least, Clarke knew she could count on this whole ordeal providing her with at least enough entertainment to distract her from her own thoughts for a bit – to keep her from dwelling too masochistically on the details of her father’s recent death that’d been whispered into the shell of her ear away from prying eyes and ears.

She had known it was coming, had been waiting for the reports of his demise from some distant village on the outskirts of their civilization for months on end, but that didn’t mean it’d stolen the breath from Clarke’s chest with any less force when she’d finally been delivered it. He’d been a fugitive for most of the time she’d been alive, it was true, but he was still her father – someone she’d known and loved once upon a time, her flesh and blood returned to the dirt once more.

Truth be told, Clarke couldn’t actually picture his face in her mind’s eyes anymore, the lines and planes having been blurred along the bristles of rumor and resentment over the years, but it was his face she tried to picture, nonetheless, as she spurred her horse on down the hill.

By the time she’d somewhat succeeded in calling the specifics of his profile to recollection, Clarke was forced to abandon the image on the edge of conscious thought, focusing instead on the hulking gates that seemed to open with reluctant slowness at the approach of the caravan. Clarke adjusted herself in the saddle, feeling an odd sort of prickling at the nape of her neck as she finally made it to the threshold of the gates, not chancing a glance down at the warriors stationed there. She already knew what she’d see in their eyes as they looked at her, at her peers, and she didn’t fancy starting her very first visit to the capitol off on such a sour note.  

She would try to keep the façade of good-naturedness afoot for as long as humanly possible until physically forced to abandon it for reality.

“They’re staring,” a boy’s voice spoke up from Clarke’s left, drawing her attention to it. She was unsurprised to find Micah matching her pace now, the young warrior’s white face paint striking an altogether terrifying and beautiful contrast to his dark skin. “Why are they staring?”

Clarke glanced around briefly, having felt the eyes of the city’s occupants glued to them the moment they’d entered the city walls, lifting a brow at the fact that many of them had chosen to crane their necks out of varying degrees of shelter instead of actually standing to greet the newcomers on the street.

The buildings were both familiar and foreign where they stood clumped together, their architecture discernible as a remnant of a previous civilization that’d stood before this while also standing to defy the image of anything Clarke had ever seen.

“It’s the face-paint, I think,” Clarke responded lightly, shrugging good-naturedly and cracking a small smile in the boy’s direction in an effort to quell his nerves. “Or the fur – no one has fur quite like we do in any other clan, you know.”

Micah nodded to himself, seeming to turn this over in his head as if it was some new piece of intel he’d been given to dissect.

Clarke sighed under her breath, wishing not for the first time in her life that one of her peers – or anyone, really – could counter her “odd” disposition, as Roan had once coined it.

She couldn’t put a finger on it most of the time, but it seemed to her that she was simply prone to taking things less _seriously_ than those around her, regardless of age. For as long as she could remember, Clarke had felt an incessant need to interject levity into most situations, finding that it struck a much-needed counterbalance to the soul-crushing weight of gloom and merciless blood-lust that characterized her clan’s culture at every turn.

If that made her _odd_ , then so be it.

“Riders, dismount!” came the command from somewhere far in front.

Clarke obeyed immediately, twisting out of the saddle with practiced ease and landing with a firm clomp on the stone pathway beneath.

She knew what came next; their entire caravan had very specific instructions upon entering the city, and Clarke immediately led her horse to fall behind the three other warriors in her contingent. Micah fell into step behind Clarke, and the group of them veered off to the left down a narrow alleyway much to the displeasure of the residents milling about there.

The sound of doors being thrown shut and barred closed characterized the soundtrack of the following moments, the confused shouts of city guardsmen growing more and more distant the further they got from the main road.

Their instructions were clear – each contingent was to fan out across the city, making their presence known in all quarters and standing in direct opposition to the Commander’s preliminary order that no Azgeda warrior go unaccompanied through the city at any point during their visit. Of course, the only segment of their caravan who would actually _follow_ that order was Nia’s own, the queen poised and surrounded by her known favorites – the most skilled in all of Azgeda. Her group would stay as close to the Commander and her advisors as possible, taking advantage of the rare invitation to the city to collect intel and make a show of blatant intimidation to boot.

Given that this was the first diplomatic request that Nia had responded to that Clarke could recall, she knew there had to be some ulterior motive for them converging on Polis on the eve of what was predicted to be their clan’s most brutal winter yet. Whether it was to see to rumors of an up-and-coming peace treaty between a good number of Azgeda’s enemies and the capitol or to simply find an excuse to ride out the winter elsewhere, Clarke couldn’t be sure. Again, politics weren’t her strong suit, and she’d learned to simply go along with whatever scheme Nia had planned at this point instead of winding up with her head on a pike somewhere in the barren tundra.

All she knew for certain was that her clan was the only united contingent currently present within the city’s walls and, should any conflict ensue, Clarke would, at the very least, enjoy the show…

The telltale signs of a scuffle drew her out of her train of thought suddenly, the two line-leaders of her group apparently prepared to engage in a brawl with some heckler blocking the path of their caravan. Without saying a word, Clarke shoved her horse’s reigns into Micah’s fumbling hands and jogged forward, catching the tail-end of yet another insult thrown from the heckler’s mouth.

“Azgeda scum! How _dare_ you –,” the merchant’s voice was abruptly cut off by the force of breath leaving his lungs, Clarke watching as her primary line-leader, Klaw, forced the man to the ground, wrestling with the weapons belt at his waist.

Clarke’s eyes widened slightly, stopping just short of where Klaw had the man pinned and throwing an exasperated look at Maleki, his wingman and second in line. The other warrior refused to meet her glare, instead parrying with sword in hand to create a perimeter around Klaw as several concerned onlookers attempted to press towards the fallen merchant.

“Enough of this, Maleki,” Clarke hissed at him, fists clenching and unclenching out of instinctual desire to draw her own blade. “You know this isn’t what we came here to do.”

“Is it not?” the warrior spat back immediately, a malicious grin spreading across his face as he continued to stare down at Klaw now having worked the merchant into a chokehold.

Okay, screw what she said about existing for the sake of entertainment while in Polis – she wasn’t about to stand back and watch as yet another innocent life met its end on the whim of one of her peers’ temper-tantrums.

Unlike her counterparts, it seemed, Clarke knew the difference between antagonism and _murder_ , and she wasn’t about to watch that line get blurred if she had anything to say about it.

Sliding to her left as if to flank Maleki’s right shoulder, Clarke adjusted at the last second and threw her elbow out, catching the warrior by surprise as it connected with his ribcage, forcing him to drop the sword situated in his right hand as he doubled over. Without looking back, Clarke moved forward and bent to hook an arm around Klaw’s neck, working her fist around to press into the muscle attached to his rotator cuff, almost smiling to herself as she felt him go limp in her arms at the activation of the hidden pressure point there.

She pulled the warrior’s body further from the bloodied merchant, motioning with a jerk of her head for him to get the hell out of there. He complied immediately, barely so much as throwing a glance her way as he scrambled to his feet and off into the shadows of the nearest alleyway.

“Nothing to see here, folks,” Clarke called to the remaining bystanders in Trigedasleng, easily switching from her mother tongue to the more widely-used language of the capitol and surrounding territories.

Klaw was starting to struggle in her chokehold once more, and she threw a near apologetic look at the small crowd still gawking at her as she quickly drew her blade and rammed the butt of the handle with just enough force into the point on the side of his skull that the warrior went completely slack, unconscious.

(She was alarmingly good with activating certain “pressure points,” as they were so aptly named, and it made her a bitch to go up against regardless of how much experience a prospective sparring partner could throw in her face.)

“That’s it, move along now,” she continued, watching as the crowd hesitantly dispersed and made their way into the nearest structure designed to keep people like her out. “Nothing to see…”

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” Maleki’s furious voice assaulted her from behind only moments later, Clarke digging her heels into the dirt to turn and face him with Klaw still situated in her arms.

The warrior was clutching at his ribcage, his face pale and incredulous as he attempted to limp up to her. Clarke shrugged, unperturbed as she gestured for the third in line to come relieve her of Klaw. Once she was free of him, Clarke stood, placing her hands on her hips and shrugging nonchalantly.

“Like I said – we didn’t come here to pick fights with old people. You both should know better than that, anyways,” she scolded him, shaking her head a bit as she made her way back to a gobsmacked Micah, the boy wordlessly extending her horse’s reigns to her without so much as a peep.

 _This is going to be a long trip_ , Clarke thought to herself as she pulled her horse to the front of their group, unbothered to wait for Maleki or whoever had the misfortune of pulling an unconscious Klaw along on his horse.

She supposed she’d just have to start making the best of it.

 

\---

 

Clarke didn’t know how she’d done it – she really didn’t – but she’d somehow managed to give her contingent the slip, making her way through a person-sized hole in the outer wall to that small river on the west side of the city that she’d been so fascinated by.

She’d left her horse with Micah, giving him some half-witted excuse as to why she needed to be anywhere but with their group for a while, and the boy had barely processed what she’d said before she was slinking off into the shadows towards the wall.

The sky was a wash of orange and pinks peeking through the canopy above, the sun sinking further towards the horizon the longer she trudged through the thick underbrush. The faint sound of rushing water greeted Clarke’s ears suddenly, the noise as unfamiliar to her as the seemingly-continuous tangling of vines and leafy branches she kept having to cut through with her hunting knife.

The next moment, Clarke was breaking through the tree cover, forcing herself not to stumble down the small rocky slope towards the river. Stopping at the edge of the water before it could lap up onto her boots, Clarke looked around, sheathing her blade upon not finding a reason to keep it in hand.

She sighed louder than she usually allowed herself to, content to be completely alone for the first time in what felt like ages. Clarke bent to skim her fingers across the surface of the water, surprised to find it a refreshingly frigid temperature in comparison to the muggy air all around her.

Smiling like a giddy child, Clarke went down onto her knees, moving to scoop a generous handful of the cool liquid into her cupped hands and splashing it onto her face. The feeling of the water on her sweat-covered skin was enough to send a cough of laughter bubbling over her lips, suddenly desiring to fully-emerge her body in the stuff despite knowing that she couldn’t rightfully do so at the moment. Maybe later, though…

The following moments were spent with Clarke hunched over the water, scrubbing her face clean of the sticky paint that’d begun to stink of animal fat some hours before. She used the reflective metallic surface of her right wrist-guard as reference, scrubbing as gently as she could manage at the paint-covered skin until it was comfortably naked once more.

Humming happily to herself, Clarke sat back on her haunches, craning her neck up towards the sky, mouth falling open in delight to find a dusting of stars beginning to twinkle through the lingering streaks of sunlight. She’d heard they’d be different here, but it was one of those things one had to see in order to believe –

A twig snapped somewhere behind her, and Clarke was jumping to her feet in the next moment, pivoting so that her back was towards the river as she drew her hunting knife from her belt. Despite the sharpness of her warrior’s eye that’d been trained to detect even the smallest hint of movement, she was finding it much more difficult than she’d expected to discern anything unnatural from the thick tree cover, eyes darting every which way in the attempt to do so.

“Who’s there?” Clarke prompted in Trigedasleng, violating her usual code of silence on the edge of conflict in favor of avoiding such a confrontation. “Show yourself!”

She was surprised to pick up the faint sound of what she believed to be an argument on a gust of the wind, brows furrowing as whoever it was rustled a bit more noisily in the canopy.

Right as Clarke was finally able to lock her eyes onto the culprits hidden from view until now, the lone figure of a girl emerged from the tree line immediately followed by another with a bow notched and pointed right at Clarke’s heart.

Clarke ignored the archer, though, momentarily taken with the unarmed girl now standing less than fifty paces in front of her on the river bank.

The girl was Clarke’s age, maybe older, wild black curls pulled back by a cloth headband that framed a youthful face quite a few shades darker than Clarke’s but still light enough to hold a discernible sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes. Her cheeks were slightly rounded still, holding the baby fat that Clarke had only recently lost to sharpened features in an otherwise heart-shaped face, her eyes large and childlike above a plump set of lips. She wore a sleeveless grey tunic tucked into tight black pants and boots to match, tattoos wrapping down from her shoulders around both biceps.

The girl wasn’t unattractive, that much was clear, but it was the strange level of hostility gleaming in her wide hazel eyes that had Clarke tightening her grip on the blade. She swallowed, eyes darting between the two girls staring her down now, feeling more and more like a wild animal being backed into a corner.

“What is your name, soldier?” the curly-haired girl called to Clarke in Trigedasleng, her archer still poised to fire at any moment. Clarke narrowed her eyes, wondering where this girl’s nerve came from in inquiring to someone in such a way while wearing less than half as much armor.

“Who wants to know?” Clarke shot back, stepping forward unthinkingly as the archer seemed to rear up at the perceived slight. The girl simply raised a brow, unmoved by her archer’s uneasiness, and the alarm bells in Clarke’s head quieted little by little as her annoyance at the audacity of the other girl increased.

“Someone with an arrow pointed at your chest, that’s who,” the girl retorted, eyes lighting with challenge as she seemed to pick up on the natural air of insolence that Clarke typically carried herself with. Clarke snorted, shrugging a little with blade still in hand as she met the girl’s gaze.

“I don’t see a bow in your hand,” she responded easily, cocking an indignant brow as the girl’s eyes widened minutely.

Clarke barely had time to blink before an arrow was whizzing past her left shoulder, causing her head to whip around to watch as it buried itself in a tree trunk directly behind Clarke’s back on the opposite side of the river. Despite herself, Clarke whistled, appreciating the sheer efficiency and accuracy of the archer’s shot regardless of the fact that she’d nearly taken an arrow through her shoulder.

She turned back around in time to see the curly-haired girl gripping onto a handful of the long-shirt unprotected by armor on the archer’s shoulder, expression one of barely-contained anger as she scolded the other girl too low for Clarke to hear.

Clarke simply rolled her eyes, sheathing her blade quickly and turning on her heels to make her way back to the hole in the wall. She’d barely made it ten paces when she heard shouts behind her back.

“Hey! Come back here –,”

The next moment, Clarke felt a hand on her shoulder attempting to stop her and spin her back around. Her instincts kicking in with the next breath, Clarke ducked out of the grip that’d yet to tighten on her shoulder as she spun and swept her assailant’s legs out from under her with the leg that’d lead the motion.

In the next moment, Clarke had the archer pinned to the rocks of the river bank with her hunting blade pressed to the girl’s neck, meeting eyes blown wide by surprise and breathlessness with her own narrowed ones.

“Can I help you?” she inquired threateningly of the girl, quietly pleased to watch the archer sputter and fight for the breath that’d been knocked out of her as Clarke remained astride her prone figure.

“It’s o-okay,” the curly-haired girl spoke up then, stuttering slightly as Clarke looked up to find her a few paces away with both palms out in front of her as if to signal harmlessness. Clarke met her gaze as the archer continued to squirm beneath her, easily keeping the girl down.

“We mean no harm.”  
“Is that so? Do you typically put your hands on every stranger to whom you mean no harm, then?” Clarke countered, lifting a brow to the girl who seemed to be appraising her more closely now.

They stood there for moments unspoken, gazes matched and weighted with tension as Clarke continued to pin the archer to the ground – measuring, watching, waiting.

Then, after a while:  
“I was under the impression that all Azgeda warriors were supposed to make their way to the marketplace upon entering the city – that none of you were to stray from your group unescorted at any point during your visit.” The girl sounded barely more than curious, her voice oddly light despite the accusation.

 _(Of cours_ e the Commander had made her order known to all the residents of the capitol – she’d have been foolish not to, honestly.)

“Am I mistaken?” Clarke shrugged, finally removing her blade from the archer’s throat and pushing herself to her feet as the girl struggled to regain her dignity.

“No, not mistaken,” Clarke answered casually, watching with barely-contained amusement as the archer scrambled to her feet and moved to be by the other girl’s side, fixing Clarke with a venomous glare as she rubbed at her throat.

The girl’s eyes narrowed at Clarke’s response, her head cocking to the side slightly as if to hear her better. They fell into that tense silence for a few moments more, Clarke raising her brows with an unspoken _so what?_

“Since I’m not mistaken, then,” the girl continued after a bit, tone verging on annoyance now, “and since you _clearly_ refuse to give me your name, at least answer me this – what on _earth_ are you doing out here?”

Clarke smiled crookedly at the question, shrugging again as she looked up at the sky now hastily darkening towards night.

“I wanted to see the river,” Clarke explained after another pause, shrugging again as the two girls now noticeably gaped at her. “We don’t have any bodies of water like this where I’m from that aren’t frozen, and I was curious.”

Seeing the girls still absolutely stunned before her at the genuineness of the answer, Clarke ducked her head to grin some more to herself as she made her way back over to the water’s edge, bending to scoop a handful to gulp down.

Feeling the weight of the day’s travels suddenly pressing down on her, Clarke scooted back only to flop down on her back with little grace, throwing her arms behind her head to cradle it as she stared up at the sky, the stars growing more discernible with every blink.

“You’re going to miss the welcome feast for your people if you keep on like that.” The girl appeared directly above Clarke in the next blink, expression opaque despite appearing to fight some minimal degree of amusement now.

Clarke rolled her eyes, exceptionally displeased to find her view of the stars obscured by both the curly-haired girl and her archer now.

“I’m sure someone will save me a plate.”

“Knowing the appetite of warriors after any length of a journey?” the girl retorted immediately, looking away from Clarke to share a glance with her archer. “Not likely.”

Clarke huffed dramatically, scowling up at the girls watching her closely as she looked between them. She knew the other girl was right – there was no way in hell that anyone cared enough about her well-being to spare her even a thought, let alone an entire serving of food – but it still left a bitter taste in her mouth to have to wordlessly admit as much.

After a few moments more of weighted gazes shared, Clarke sighed, acquiescing as she extended her hand towards the girl who appeared baffled by the gesture as her archer looked visibly uncomfortable. Before Clarke had the chance to embarrass herself further, though, a hand was grasping onto the space before the crook of her elbow, pulling Clarke easily to her feet.

Fixing her grip on the girl’s arm in the same manner in which she still held Clarke’s, she formed the gesture of traditional greeting across all clans, meeting the girl’s gaze easily now.

“Clarke,” she said finally, not missing the slight widening of the other girl’s eyes. “My name’s Clarke.”

The other girl searched her face for something, jaw working slightly as she appeared to mull some great battle over in her mind. After only a moment, though, she seemed to find what she was looking for, nodding a little to herself before speaking.

“I am Costia.”

The name was immediately familiar, scratching at the edges of Clarke’s memory as she nodded in acknowledgement, otherwise unmoved as she released her hold on Costia’s arm. She turned to the archer who was looking at her with uncontained displeasure now, hovering near Costia’s flank like a guard dog.

“And you are?” Clarke addressed the girl, raising a brow.

“None of your concern,” the archer spat back immediately, inching impossibly closer to Costia who shot her an exasperated glance. Clarke smirked at the exchange, entirely amused at this point.

“So be it – shall we head to this great feast you mentioned, Costia and none-of-my-concern?” Clarke inquired, smirk widening as Costia attempted to hide a smile at the question. The archer noticeably soured, fists clenching at her sides as she looked to Costia as if in permission to slap Clarke across the face. Upon not finding it, she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot impatiently against the pebbles below.

“We shall, Clarke.”

With that, the three of them made their way towards the tree line and back towards the wall, guided only by the faint glint of starlight obscured by tree cover twinkling far above their heads.

 

\---

 

“Were you hunting?” Clarke asked the girl beside her, glancing over at Costia who had her hands clasped behind her back, the archer on her heels. Costia shook her head a little, chewing on her lower lip as she appeared to be choosing her next words carefully.

“We were…staying out of the way, I suppose,” Costia answered slowly, seeming to taste every word with care as it rolled off the tip of her tongue. Clarke nodded, fixing her gaze back on the pathway extending in front of them as they passed a series of smaller housing units covered in graffiti.

“Makes sense,” Clarke replied easily, tone light and casual as the three of them continued towards the hulking tower growing larger and larger directly in front of them.

She whistled dramatically, feeling Costia and her archer turn to look at her as she did so.

“How’d they manage to build something so _tall?”_ Clarke inquired after a bit, appreciation seeping through her tone like honey. She could feel Costia’s eyes boring into her profile, but she couldn’t seem to look away from the massive structure to meet the girl’s gaze.

“Most of it was left over from before the bombings,” Costia admitted after a brief silence, shrugging in Clarke’s periphery. “Our warriors simply added to the foundations that were already there.”

“So you’re Trikru, then?”

The question caused Costia’s stride to stutter almost imperceptibly, a hesitation that only the most trained of eyes would’ve picked up on.

“W-what makes you say that?” Clarke turned to meet the girl’s gaze finally, raising a wry brow in an otherwise calm expression.

“Well, you said ‘ _our warriors_ ’ built that tower, and since I’m pretty certain that Trikru built everything from the huts we just passed to the wall surrounding everything else, I guess I just drew my own conclusion.” Costia seemed to turn this over in her mind, silently beating herself up over something Clarke couldn’t even begin to guess at.

The archer was standing on Costia’s other side now, her jaw clenched as she all but refused to meet Clarke’s gaze on her.

“Plus, your tattoos are a dead giveaway,” Clarke continued, gesturing in the general direction of the black ink snaking down Costia’s arms. “Only Trikru wear designs like that – in that pattern, I mean.” Clarke twirled her finger around, hoping the other girl would pick up what she was miming out.

Costia nodded slowly, her mouth working into a hard line as she looked away from Clarke and straight ahead once more, movements almost pained for whatever reason. A surprisingly tense silence befell them in the moments following, Clarke furrowing her brows in confusion as she struggled to comprehend the change in the air.

Then, finally:

“Does it matter to you? That I am Trikru, I mean?” Costia’s voice was intentionally empty, mere curiosity masking something else she didn’t want Clarke to pick up on.

Clarke did, though, immediately catching on to the implications laden within the otherwise-innocent question.

Historically speaking, Azgeda and Trikru had the biggest bone to pick of any other warring clans, their rivalry founded in generations of contempt for one another – the root of which Clarke couldn’t even begin to guess. The two clans had a reputation for encroaching into one another’s territory and wreaking havoc in some form or another on a consistent basis, Azgeda crossing the line into treason far more often than not.

Truth be told, their historic rivalry was one of the biggest reasons that Azgeda’s visit to Polis was so unprecedented, all other tension between Queen Nia and the Commander aside. If anyone from Azgeda had taken up residence in Polis – or even visited more often than once in a blue moon, for that matter – it was under the thorough guise of shrouded secrecy, the very definition of _forbidden_.

None of that actually mattered to _Clarke_ , though, did it? After all, she was just a warrior, a mindless foot soldier just as expendable as the rest in the eyes of her queen, and she didn’t see why an eternity of bad blood and grave woes had to affect _her_ existence, in particular – or even change the way she saw the people of Trikru, for that matter.

They were just people, after all – people that Clarke would either break bread or bones with, and neither truly bothered her one way or another. It was all the same to her at this point, anyways.

“No, it really doesn’t,” Clarke answered finally, honesty coloring every word as she shook her head, watching as Costia remained wary beside her. “I didn’t start the war between our clans – I just happen to have been born with the misfortune of having to fight in it.”

Costia was looking at her now in the way that Roan always did, typically right before he was about to make some snide remark about her “odd” disposition.

Before Clarke could get defensive about it, though, she was brought up short by the sudden darkening of the expression on Costia’s face. Furrowing her brows, Clarke opened her mouth to ask –

A punch to her gut sent Clarke crumpling forward to the ground, face contorting in a mask of pain and confusion as her knees slammed into the stone pathway below.

“Gustus, _please_ -,”

“What do you think you are doing with her?” the man cut Costia off sharply, Clarke feeling herself being heaved off of the ground by the collar of her shirt tucked beneath her leather breastplate.

The man – Gustus, apparently – shook Clarke a little where she remained limp in his grasp, meeting his eyes with obvious confusion as she continued to wheeze.

“I said, _what_ do you think you are _doing_ with her?!” Gustus shouted into Clarke’s face, shaking her more jarringly this time.

 _Oh, I guess he’s asking me, then_.

“We…were just…talking,” Clarke huffed out between gulps of air, doing her best to appear innocent as her head slowly cleared of fog. He most _certainly_ hadn’t needed to hit her so hard –

“And who gave you permission to do such a thing?” the warrior prompted aggressively, accentuating the last word with yet another unnecessary shake.

Clarke huffed, fighting against the powerful urge to do something stupid like spit in his face or kick him where the sun didn’t shine – if only out of respect for their current proximity and the man’s sheer _size_.

“Well, you see,” Clarke began, still struggling to form words properly as her chest heaved for air, “no one explicitly gave me _permission_ to do anything, but I -,”

Her words were cut short by Gustus abruptly dropping her back onto the ground, barely giving her time to take a breath before he began dragging her roughly by the collar across the cobblestones. Clarke closed her eyes against the wave of nausea washing over her as the jarring movements began to overwhelm her, Costia’s cries of protests barely discernible over the rattling of her own skull.

Before Clarke could take hold of any sort of bearing, she felt her hip catch on what she knew to be the threshold of a doorway, immediately finding herself swallowed by the relative darkness of a dimly-lit hallway. After only moments more, Clarke’s hip caught yet another snag in the floor as she was carelessly thrown against a wall of some sort, its smooth texture catching her by surprise.

Groaning beneath her breath, Clarke barely looked up in time to see Costia’s stricken face disappearing behind mechanically closing doors as the floor seemed to lurch, the metallic box Clarke now found herself in pulled upwards as if by some magic string.

Clarke glanced up at Gustus, the man having let go of her collar in favor of fixing his gaze at the wall in front of him with his hands clasped behind his back – a posture reminiscent of Costia’s from what felt like mere moments before.  

Clarke sighed more audibly this time, hanging her head into the cradle of her hands as her stomach turned.

_If I survive whatever this is, Queen Nia will almost certainly kill me – or Ontari, maybe. I’m sure she’d like that…_

Some short time later, the box lurched to a halt, the doors screeching open loudly.

Clarke barely had time to lift her head before Gustus had taken hold of her again, yanking her to her feet and forcing her out into a long hallway that seemed to shoot off endlessly in both directions. The warrior forced her to the left, all but dragging her along as she uncharacteristically stumbled over her own feet.

She barely had time to process the designs on the wall blurring past her as Gustus guided them hastily to their destination, stopping so suddenly that Clarke nearly gagged against the fabric of her own tunic. She turned her head to chance a look at the warrior, Gustus having fixed his eyes on the giant pair of closed doors in front of them now.

“Let’s see what the Commander makes of your behavior, shall we?”

It was a rhetorical question, that much Clarke was sure of, but she still had to fight against the desire to bite something back.

The next moment, though, the guards stationed on either side of the door that Clarke had yet to notice until then pushed the doors open for them, Gustus pulling Clarke forward into the room along with him.

It was one of the nicer rooms Clarke had ever been in, framed by some makeshift balcony for onlookers and adorned with numerous tapestries and furs that had to hold more significance than mere decoration. Candles burned in near-theatrical looking candelabras, far too many for one person to count.

All of that paled in comparison to what sat at the other end of the red carpet guiding their path into the room, though – to the figure sat atop a throne of wood and thorns more intimidating than anything Clarke had ever seen. Not even Nia’s bone crown could compare, really.

The Commander, the nightmarish figure Clarke had been conditioned to despise and trained to kill should the opportunity present itself – paint like inky tendrils streaking her cheeks, a red sash flowing from her shoulder pauldron to pool at her feet like crimson blood pouring from some fatal wound.

Looking at Clarke as if she was a parasite lingering on the sole of her boot.

 

_A long trip, indeed…_

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was already halfway written when I released the first one, so I thought I'd go ahead and get this one out while I'm in the midst of writing ITSS (which is proving to be a beast of a chapter tbh).
> 
> Thanks for such a lovely reception to the idea, guys!! Here's to hoping Chapter 2 keeps your interest...
> 
> Enjoy!! (:

Clarke didn’t know what she’d expected.

A third eye, perhaps, or maybe even hawk talons for hands, leathery scales for skin, foam and slobber dripping from animal-like jowls…

The Commander was none of the above, though.

In fact, she was just a girl. Well, not the “little girl” that Queen Nia so frequently loved to disrespect and antagonize, but a girl, nonetheless. With that black face paint on, though, the Commander seemed to Clarke less of a _girl_ and more of intimidation personified – like if Clarke took all of the warriors she kept the furthest away from and engaged in combat with the least often and molded them together like clay, the end result might scratch the surface of what the Commander was in Clarke’s mind.

She watched the girl’s face as Gustus gave his report, uncomprehending of what he was saying – and what she was being accused of – all for the fact that she couldn’t stop _staring_.

Clarke took in every detail of the Commander’s face, from her long lashes and sculpted cheekbones to the plump lips and otherwise-delicate point of her chin. It was like watching a work of art in motion, watching as shadows fell across lines and planes crafted with such exacting care that it _demanded_ to be looked at, studied for hours at a time without interruption.

Seeing her face… It was unlike anything else, nothing that Clarke could put into adequate words, at least. Nothing at all like the image she’d had constructed in her mind for quite some time now – more like watching someone shatter glass with the tip of a knife and being stunned to find that those same glass shards threw fractals of gorgeous light across every surface in proximity, expectations shattered along with it.

Simply put, Clarke was _mesmerized_ – so much so that she didn’t even notice Gustus being dismissed, throwing her one last hostile glance before turning to stride from the room. Didn’t notice the frigid ice of the Commander’s stare being directed back towards Clarke, countering her gaze with brutal intensity.

“Your face is unmarked.”

The words startled Clarke out of her awestruck trance, her mouth snapping shut as she failed to see how a voice like that could fall from lips like those – like steel through cotton.

“I…,” Clarke started, throat clicking with dryness as she felt an odd surge of nerves wash over her, “I washed it – the paint, I mean, I washed the paint off. A-at the river -,”

“You bear none of the markings characteristic of blooded warriors, nor any tattoos to signify your number of kills,” the Commander cut her off flatly, ignoring Clarke’s idiotic rambling with no indication that she’d even heard it at all. “And yet, my advisors tell me you were seen disarming two of your own in the western trading district on the brink of sunset.”

Clarke simply stared at the girl, mouth slightly agape in an expression bordering on haplessness. The Commander’s unforgiving demeanor wasn’t doing much to help Clarke along, either, her entire frame still as stone down to the very blood in her veins.

“What is your name and rank, warrior?” It was only with those words that Clarke realized she was being addressing in the language of Azgeda, so perfectly spoken by the Commander that Clarke’s mind had unquestioningly accepted it upon first intonation.

 “C-clarke. Clarke Griffin,” she stuttered back immediately, both physically and metaphorically unable to resist compliance for the first time in her life that she could remember. “Sixth quadrant, Centuria four’s Contubernium.”

Azgeda army structures were modeled after that of an ancient empire long-gone – more symbolically than anything else, a simple nod to something beyond savagery –, but Clarke could tell from the slight flash of the Commander’s eyes that the girl understood, that she knew the fancy title was just long-speak for _useless foot soldier_ , bottom-of-the-barrel types.

“Then why, might I ask, are you without markings?” the Commander pressed with a hint of something undercutting her tone. “All swordsmen like yourself are marked. Why are you an exception?”

Clarke simply blinked at the girl for a moment, dumbstruck as to why she was being pressed on such an insignificant detail but forcing herself to go along with it, regardless. She _would_ appear competent, not like some frightened child on the brink of mental collapse.

She _would._

“My basic training finished the day before the caravan left for Polis and, since we didn’t have time for the traditional initiation process – the part where we get marked – what with Queen Nia leaving and all, she decided to bring the best in the class with her instead.” Clarke didn’t know why she’d let so much pride seep into her voice with that last bit, but it was enough to make her pause for a moment, screwing her face up in displeasure.

_Not the first impression I want to be making here…_

The Commander seemed unmoved by it, though, simply lifting a brow in her otherwise stoic and inhospitable expression. She seemed to be studying Clarke now, eyes drifting carefully over what seemed to be even the smallest of details of Clarke’s uniform – which was no different than any of the other warriors that’d come into the city what with its many layers of interwoven cloth, leather, and fur. But, again, Clarke found that she was indisposed to do anything about it, simply a conscious witness of her own experience at this point.

She was just so taken off _guard_ by everything about the Commander – the way she carried herself, the way she _looked_ , even the very city, itself, that housed her.

It was enough to start the words flowing from her mouth again, unbidden.

“I’ve got tattoos – a few of them, actually. I know they’re not _technically_ what you’re talking about when you say ‘markings,’ but I can show them to you if you’d like –,”

“That won’t be necessary,” the Commander cut her off sharply, stopping Clarke mid-motion in removing the leather breastplate strapped into place across her chest.

Clarke gulped at the tone of the girl’s voice, hands falling limp at her sides once more she fixed her gaze on the floor – feeling less and less like herself by the second.

“I _am_ curious, though,” the Commander continued after a moment, her voice taking on something else entirely that Clarke couldn’t quite place. “Do the _best_ among you typically believe that rules do not apply to them? Or is that simply unique to _you?”_

The question immediately took Clarke aback, brows furrowing as she nearly took a physical step back. There was that something underlying it again, that strange note to the girl’s voice that made Clarke believe the questions weren’t meant to be as insulting as they actually were, but none of that mattered in the moments after they were spoken.

 _Who the hell does she think she is? I_ _’_ _m not the only one_ not _following orders around here..._

Just like that, Clarke was back. Any remnants of the awe she’d initially felt upon seeing the Commander or the helplessness of being stuck beneath her callous gaze was gone, replaced entirely by the same fiery insolence that took up permanent residence in Clarke’s gut.

One corner of her mouth ticking up into that crooked grin she was so known for amongst her peers, Clarke merely shrugged, her posture and demeanor falling into that of complete nonchalance.

“You and I both know I can only speak for myself here, Commander,” Clarke began in a tone perfectly reflecting of her demeanor now, hands tucking into the deep pockets of her pant legs, “so I guess I should just go ahead and admit that I’ve never been the _best_ at following orders, regardless of who’s giving them.”

That wasn’t _completely_ true, of course, as she had no problem following the rules and orders she _agreed_ with, but the Commander didn’t need to know that little detail.

The narrowing of stony eyes rimmed with paint was enough to make the corner of Clarke’s mouth tick up even further. The Commander stood then, the grace of her movements testing Clarke’s nonchalance as the girl descended the steps towards her, expression unforgiving.

Clarke stood her ground surprisingly well, though, keeping her features schooled and simply raising a curious brow at the girl’s approach. The Commander stopped not five feet in front of her, arms clasped behind her back and eyes boring into Clarke’s as if the gaze, alone, could stab them clean through.

“Tell me, Clarke Griffin of Azgeda – have you ever refused an order to kill?”

It was a low blow, targeted at Clarke’s lowly status as a foot soldier – they both knew it – but that wasn’t what caught Clarke’s attention. Oddly enough, it was the way the Commander had said her name, the way she coaxed around certain letters and punctuated others – almost like everyone else had been saying it entirely _wrong_ up until this point…

_Not the time, not the time, not the time._

Clarke’s smile fell a bit, the glint in her eyes lighting a slightly different color as she met the Commander’s glare head-on, returning it in kind.

“And why would I do such a thing, Commander?” Clarke responded evenly, voice smooth like the flat side of a blade rotating to strike, matching the chill of the Commander’s gaze with ease. “Why would I refuse to do something that brings me such _joy?”_

Her words seemed to send a ripple across the Commander’s façade, the girl’s eyes flashing of barely-contained violence as she appeared to be deciding whether to remove Clarke’s hand or tongue first. It was gone in the next instant, though, the Commander’s glower falling into subarctic territory now as Clarke’s smile grew right back into place.

The two girls fell into somewhat of a staring contest after that, both refusing to barely more than blink as though that might jeopardize their chances of getting to stomp the other down for the metaphorical high ground. It was push and pull, malice countered with disdain, and the air seemed to prickle around them as if it might bite at the fingertips of any who dared test it.

In the back of her mind, Clarke knew she wouldn’t get anywhere further than dead in challenging the Commander in such a way – she knew it, she _really_ did… She couldn’t seem to help herself, though. The antagonism, the surge of adrenaline she was feeling, the energy surrounding it all – it was almost enough to be _fun_.

Finally, though, the Commander seemed to have had enough of their little game, abruptly turning her back on Clarke only to walk back and climb the steps to her throne – taking the _literal_ high ground, apparently.

She turned back to face Clarke, expression wholly contained and holding no remnants of their recent exchange – only impassivity, unquestionable authority.

“Let it be known that any other warrior within your ranks who decides to stray from the path allotted them will face accorded punishment at _my_ hand,” the Commander stated, flat and steely with a hint of deadly promise laden within every syllable. “As for you, Clarke Griffin, I pray we will not find ourselves meeting under such circumstances for the remaining duration of your visit – if at all… You are dismissed.”

Clarke’s smile had worked itself into a near-wicked grin now, filled with as much wry amusement as any one expression could hold, and she simply tipped her head to the Commander, the gesture _oozing_ of pseudo-respect. Turning on her heels, Clarke strolled happily to the door, taking her sweet time in exiting the room with her hands still sheathed in her pockets.

With her hand pressed against the door, Clarke looked back over her shoulder at the Commander watching her from the throne once more, the wry grin still coloring her features as she poured as much false kindness into her voice to say:

“It was _lovely_ meeting you, Commander.”

Not pausing to take in the other girl’s reaction, Clarke turned back around to push through the double doors.

 

\---

 

Apparently, the Commander had pushed the meeting following her reception of Nia and her contingent back in order to meet with Clarke.

Clarke had only learned this some hours after the fact, the details of their encounter having been running through her mind as if on a loop since she’d left the throne room. There were just so many things that’d clicked into place _after_ the fact that she wished she’d been able to catch on to as they were unfolding…

For instance, the whole facial-markings thing; Clarke had been sitting across from a disgruntled Klaw later in the night when she’d realized that she’d lied to the Commander – those markings weren’t given to just _anyone_ who completed basic training, they were carved into the faces of those who would go on to become the queen’s mercenaries, the ones who would grow up to kill at her personal bequest. Though the majority of the other clans believed that all Azgeda warriors bore such markings, this was due to the fact that they only ever encountered those whom the queen _wanted_ them to see – if only for the fact that stories of a scarred and savage army were far more terrifying than a clean-faced cohort. The Commander, though… She had to know that, right? She was the Commander after all, privy to the largest army of any of the other clans – which meant she had to have intel, didn’t she?

So, why, then, had the Commander wanted to know whether or not Clarke was an assassin? What was Clarke _missing_ there?  
It’d also occurred to her when she was on the brink of sleep in her tent on the open grassy plains of the eastern quarter that the Commander hadn’t spoken a word of Costia during their audience, hadn’t even acknowledged that Clarke’s presence beside the other girl had been the catalyst for Gustus bringing her so _roughly_ to the throne room in the first place.

It was all just very strange, and Clarke made it her own personal mission to figure out the missing piece to that puzzle the moment she opened her eyes the next morning. The obvious first step in that mission was finding Costia, of course, and picking the girl’s brain until she got what she was looking for.

Her only issue: she had to _find_ Costia first.

 

“Clarke, come _on,”_ Micah protested, barely managing to keep up with Clarke as she ducked into another room, eyes darting around every corner and huffing in frustration as she came up empty yet again. “We’ve already checked every room on this hall –,”

“She’s here, kid – I just _know_ it,” Clarke cut him off, striding with purpose over to the next set of doors on the right, carelessly throwing them open only to be disappointed again.

She knew she was going off of a pipedream here, chasing after the ghost of someone who most likely didn’t want to be found, but she couldn’t help it – she’d sworn she’d seen the back of Costia’s head swiftly turning a corner a few minutes before, and she wouldn’t stop until she’d successfully tracked the girl down.

Clarke and Micah were somewhere deep within the labyrinth of the central part of the tower, their contingent one of a few lesser-ranked squadrons having been given the morning to do as they pleased while the higher-ups fanned out across the city and the queen attended the Commander’s previously-postponed audience. Clarke had passed the Commander’s message along to Ontari who often acted as a communication bridge between the lessers and highers – one of Nia’s obvious favorites for whatever reason – but the other girl had simply laughed in her face, either refusing to believe that Clarke had taken a private audience with the Commander or simply not caring about what had happened during it.

It was neither here nor there, though, Clarke’s mind fully-focused on the task at hand as she led Micah to yet another dead end before hastening towards the staircase and down to the next level.

“Who are we even _looking_ for?” Micah whined from behind her back, his footsteps clattering noisily down the metallic treads of the staircase as Clarke’s ghosted over them.

“I’ll know her when I see her,” she replied confidently, throwing the door of the lower landing open and bursting into an empty hallway in which Micah’s dramatic groan was magnified.

She threw her arm out to clap a hand over his mouth, startling the boy as she held firm, listening carefully for any movement.

A trick of light at the far end of the hall caught Clarke’s eye, causing her to focus in on the spot and wait to see if it happened again. Sure enough, only moments later, it did – a fractal thrown from some shining object, retreating around the far corner.

“Stay here,” she commanded Micah, not waiting for his compliance as she bolted down the hall, footfalls like silent thunder as she skidded around the turn and nearly fell flat on her face with inertia, forcing herself to stop short.

It was the reflection of light off a metallic door handle belonging to a closed oak door – that was what had thrown the fractals, once being pulled open and once falling silently shut.

Swallowing a sudden wave of apprehension, Clarke grabbed the handle and pulled it open, ignoring the warning bells going off in her mind and Micah’s whispered calls to her from outside the staircase.

She wasn’t prepared.

Walking ten paces through a dark and narrow opening, Clarke abruptly came to a halt, jaw falling open as she ogled the room in front of her, what had spilled out from the small opening through whence she’d come.

Books, stacked from floor to ceiling on every wall in an untold number of layers. A balcony that framed the room at the perfect halfway point between floor and ceiling, accessible only by the winding metal staircase in the far-right corner of the library, space left for a moveable ladder on the inner side. Round tables scattered randomly throughout the room in contrast to the many standing bookshelves stacked one after the other in rows. A chandelier of candles and animal bone hanging from the center of the ceiling, providing the most light apart from the candelabras stationed at nearly every turn, lighting the way.

_You’d think it would be a fire hazard…_

Clarke couldn’t help any of the thoughts flashing through her mind now, her body moving forward into the room unbidden as she moved to lace her fingers together on the back of her head, supporting it as she craned her neck up and memorized every detail. Whoever had built the tower must’ve designed it so that this room could take up the space that others lacked –

“Might I know the reason you’re following me, Clarke?” came Costia’s softly curious voice from somewhere in the huge room, causing Clarke’s head to whip every which way as she searched for its source.

She moved more quickly into the room, focused entirely on locating Costia amongst the numerous shelves and tables creating many a place to be kept from prying eyes.

“We just…never got to finish our conversation,” Clarke replied after a moment, tone as carefully innocent as she could manage. She looked beyond the third bookshelf, coming up empty yet again.

“You could understand why I might have reason to believe that untrue,” Costia spoke again, her voice thrown from the complete opposite direction Clarke had thought it’d come from initially. She stopped, brows furrowing in confusion and a little exasperation.

Immediately sensing what the girl was implying, though, Clarke walked out to the most visible center of the room, making quick work of removing her weapons belt and the various knives hidden on her person. She placed them on the nearest round table, making a point of letting them clatter noisily onto the surface.

“I do,” Clarke allowed, her steps much slower now as she made her way to another row of shelves, thoughtful. “But if there’s one thing you should know about me, Costia, it’s that I’m true to my word – and I really am here to talk.”

She stopped near the back wall, expression screwing up in confusion as she looked around, still unable to spot the other girl.

“Up here, Clarke,” Costia’s voice came from right above her, Clarke’s head whipping up to find Costia leaning casually over the balcony railing, meeting Clarke’s gaze with a raised brow.

Clarke walked backwards a couple steps to get a better look at the girl, a victorious grin spreading across her features. Costia was barefoot, wearing a floor-length and flowing strapless dress the color of jade, looking the epitome of comfortable.

 _My hunch was right_ _–_ _she_ totally _lives here._

 “How did you even get into the tower?” Costia asked after a moment, cocking her head to the side as if in bafflement.  “I thought your entry was prohibited – yours and the rest of your army save for the queen’s contingent, that is.”

“I like to climb,” Clarke shrugged, answering Costia’s confusion with an easy smile. “The Commander should invest in better security on the outside windows, I guess.”

Clarke was momentarily drawn back to her and Micah’s climb not too long ago, how the boy had griped and groaned into the wind of disobeying orders all while they’d scaled the first couple of floors along the outside of the tower hidden in the shadows of morning. It’d been much different than cliff faces and tree trunks, but the challenge had been enough to get Clarke’s blood pounding in her ears, her heart racing – an adrenaline high on which she stilled seemed to ride.

Costia simply shook her head, lips pursing as she fought what appeared to be amusement. She appraised Clarke in silent for moments after that, looking at the warrior as if she were some three-headed creature having materialized before her eyes. Then, after a while:  
“Come up here.”

Clarke complied immediately, making her way over to the spiral staircase and scaling the steps two at a time. She stuck her arm out to run her fingertips over the spines of the books as she walked along the metal pathway, making her way over to where Costia stood watching her curiously.

When they were but a few feet away, Costia held a large leather-bound book out to Clarke who received it gingerly, holding it as if it were some sort of infant fawn. She opened it gently and rifled through the pages, looking up after a moment to Costia for explanation.

“It is the written history of our clans,” the girl supplied, looking down thoughtfully at the scrawl beneath Clarke’s fingertips. “It tells of the time after the bombings, how the first Commander attempted to make sense of madness…,” Costia trailed off, falling into that trance-like thoughtfulness once more.

Clarke looked back down at the book, pausing at an illustration of a single figure surrounded by blackened ruins, cradling her face in her hands as if in grave sorrow. The following page showed that same woman addressing a crowd in chaos, her hands extended towards them as if in helpless placation.

“If she could see us all now, she would be ashamed.”

Clarke met Costia’s gaze at that, watching as the girl’s expression darkened into something beyond solemnity, bordering on dejection. She watched the other girl in silence, letting the weight of her words settle deep in her bones.

“We treat one another as if we are of different species, entirely – without understanding, without _empathy_ … Every man for himself –,”

“Blood must have blood,” Clarke finished for her, voice incredibly soft, contemplative. She was completely lost in thought now, original purpose for having located the other girl now departed on the breath of words.

Costia nodded, meeting Clarke’s gaze with a maelstrom warring in her eyes now.

“There are no _true_ alliances, only fragile white flags thrown up in the interest of surviving a bit longer outside of battle. I suppose I just…I feel like – is that truly all there is? Is there truly nothing more to this life than _survival?”_

Clarke turned away from Costia at that, eyes drifting aimlessly across the numerous backs of books she couldn’t read as she moved to rest her elbows on the railing, her chin cradled in her hand.

_Is there?_

Everything she’d ever been taught, everything she’d ever heard would say not. Life was simply a series of battles – some won, some lost, but never more than that. Azgeda didn’t deal in _alliances_ ; in fact, Clarke barely knew the meaning of the word when she really thought about it more closely. It was only ever death or capture, success or failure, and every time Clarke attempted to think of anything _beyond_ that, the edges of her mind’s eye would blur, unable to form a clear picture.

“If it’s all someone knows, how are they supposed to change? Especially if they’ve never been given reason to believe that _more_ will bring them anything different…” Clarke puzzled aloud after a while, her voice far away and barely more than a whisper as Costia made to join her on the railing. “People need stability, _security_ – if surviving is what brings them that, who are we to say that it’s wrong?”

She glanced over at Costia then, noting how the other girl’s brows were furrowed in something close to discontent.

“Does it really, though?” the girl spoke up after a moment, a hint of desperation undercutting her words. “Does surviving, _killing_ , really bring anyone any kind of _security_ , or have they just been _convinced_ that it does? That there is no other way around it?”

Clarke sighed beneath her breath, knowing that the other girl would draw such a conclusion. She fixed her gaze more steadily on Costia after a moment, inclining her head to the side as if to find a better angle from which to study the girl.

“Is it really up to us to decide such things?” Clarke responded quietly, curiously, watching as Costia continued to visibly struggle before her eyes. “If one clan believes that living their lives a certain way is right, then who are we to tell them otherwise?”

At this, Costia practically reared up, eyes widening as if Clarke had just threatened to kill her entire family.

“How could you – is killing _right_ , then?! Do you believe that murder is – ?”

“Relative,” Clarke cut her off, the calm going right up against the storm. “Right and wrong are _relative_ , Costia... I don’t think anyone would argue that killing is _justifiable_ , but sometimes it’s… necessary.”

_The plunge of blade into vital organs, over and over_ _–_ _Clarke screaming, crying, hating how the handle jerked in her grasp every time it entered his body. Her mother, his victim, drowning in a pool of her own blood, hand outstretched to Clarke as if that, alone, might save her_ _–_

“We do what we have to in order to live another day,” Clarke sighed, closing her eyes for a moment and hanging her head over the railing, the melancholy of memories weighting her every word. “Doesn’t mean it’s right, doesn’t mean it’s wrong – it just _is.”_

Costia simply stared at her, blinking as if physically trying to process what she was hearing, the cogs in her brain whirring against each other. After what felt like an eternity to Clarke, the girl seemed to deflate beside her, sighing deeply as she looked out over the balcony, appearing to grow tired all of a sudden.

It was only after minutes more spent with Clarke silently studying the other girl that she decided to break the silence.

“You’ve never killed before, have you?”

Costia seemed to freeze, eyes widening a little as her head whipped towards Clarke, mouth falling open.

“I-I don’t – how did you – why would you – ?”

“I might not know how to read these books you seem to cherish so much, but I can recognize a person with clean hands when I see one,” Clarke interjected, cutting Costia’s sputtering off in a tone that was neither accusatory nor judgmental – simply observational.

Costia’s eyes fell shut after a moment, teeth catching at her lip as she appeared almost _guilty_ – as though she’d just let some vital secret slip. She sighed in that heavy way again, only opening her eyes after she’d seemingly collected herself once more.

Clarke shrugged at the girl, a gentle smile playing at the corners of her lips as if to say, _it’s okay, I understand_.

“I…have always been more of the _academic_ type, I suppose,” Costia allowed finally, meeting Clarke’s eyes again and looking nearly apologetic now. “Truth be told, the sight of blood has always made me slightly nauseous…”

“Hey, that’s totally okay,” Clarke reassured her, her smile growing wider now. “It’s nasty stuff anyways, and it stinks to high heaven if you let it dry, so.”

Costia chuckled lightly at that, nodding her head a little bit as if to signify that they’d finally reached lighter territory once again.

“Do you –,” she swallowed, looking more nervous all of a sudden, “do you really not know how to…?” She pointed at the book still in Clarke’s hand, the gesture accommodating words unspoken.

“Nope,” Clarke replied immediately, tone casual as she emphasized the consonants in the word. “It was never necessary – all I needed to know was how to hold a blade and who to jab it at… It doesn’t take a genius to stab things, apparently.”

Clarke’s grin grew more crooked the louder Costia laughed, and she found herself actually enjoying the company of another human being for, perhaps, the first time in years.

“Well, I would be more than happy to show you the basics, if you’d like,” Costia offered after her laughter had ceased, meeting Clarke’s smile in kind. “We could start with books that have more pictures than words – like the one you’re holding, for instance –,”

“Costia?”  
A familiar voice cut the girl off mid-sentence with the sound of the door swinging open, startling both girls as they looked to the figure emerging from the dark entryway.

Clarke’s stomach nearly dropped out of her body then, her heart thundering against her ribcage as dread flooded her senses.

“Gustus told me you’d be here, and I only have a few minutes –,”

The Commander froze abruptly, eyes fixing on Clarke next to Costia on the balcony and widening slightly, her mouth falling open unbidden before she could catch it. A number of indiscernible emotions seemed to flash through her eyes framed with war paint as she stared up at them, apparently caught off-guard and floundering in it.

Almost as if on instinct, the Commander’s hand fell to the handle of her sword, grasping onto it as if in preparation to draw. She walked forward a few steps in haste, hand still on her blade before something caught her eye and made her stop – the pile of Clarke’s weapons on one of the round tables, candlelight reflecting off the metallic handles.

“Le-Commander,” Costia spoke up an octave too high, breaking the silence as she seemed to stumble over her words for whatever reason.

Clarke’s gaze was glued to the Commander, though, in the process of deciding whether it would truly be all that painful to jump from one of the tower windows. Less painful than dying at the Commander’s sword, surely…

“I had promised Clarke of Azgeda a tour of the tower –,”

“Will you excuse us for a moment, Costia?” the Commander interrupted her, eyes hardening almost instantly as she schooled her expression into one of alarming calm, watching Clarke like a hawk scouting prey.

 _Great. Just wonderful. Amazing_.

“I…” Costia trailed off, eyes darting wildly between the Commander and Clarke as if realizing she’d done something horrible, something irreversible. She didn’t move, feet glued to the metal grating below her as if waiting for a cue.

Clarke pursed her lips, glancing over and nodding her head a little as if giving permission for the girl to leave her side – or maybe in acceptance of her own fate, it was hard to tell. Seeing that, Costia simply sighed, wincing a bit and mouthing a silent apology as she made her way over to the spiral staircase and down.

“Of course, Commander.”

The words were incredibly soft, almost coaxing, and Clarke watched as Costia stopped at the Commander’s side to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, surprising Clarke with how natural the gesture seemed. The Commander finally looked away from Clarke to acknowledge the other girl, some weighted glance being shared between the two of them...

That’s when it clicked.

The ease with which Costia moved around the Commander, how she so casually invaded the girl’s personal space, that secret look they’d shared that only one who’d loved another would recognize – how she’d almost slipped up and revealed the Commander’s name with such carelessness moments before… They were _lovers._

And, just like that, everything made sense – the reason that Gustus had been so rough with her, the aggressiveness with which the Commander had pressed Clarke on the issue of her face-markings – or lack, thereof – and why every word that’d come from her mouth had felt like an unwarranted threat. Why she’d seemed to have steered the subject to anything _but_ Costia when they’d spoken… Even Costia’s archer made sense now, most likely an added protective detail at the bequest of the Commander.

_Oh…_

Distracted by her revelations (and an odd pang of something like _disappointment_ deep within her stomach, for whatever reason) as she was, Clarke hadn’t realized she’d unconsciously moved to follow Costia down the stairs, only coming back to herself surrounded by round tables.

Alone with the Commander, mere feet away now. A Commander who was watching the apprehensive glint in Clarke’s eyes turn to understanding and comprehension –

Before Clarke even had time to draw her next breath, what remained of the last one was knocked out of her as she found herself being tackled to the floor, chairs clattering carelessly to the ground as several of Clarke’s limbs banged into them. In the next moment, a blade was pressing into the tender skin of her throat, the Commander’s knee digging into her sternum and her free hand having somehow managed to capture Clarke’s wrists in a cuff-like hold in the midst of their fall.

Clarke was utterly and completely pinned to the ground, defenseless.

“What is this? What do you want with her?!” the Commander spat through gritted teeth, the amount of aggression and hostility dripping from every word enough to send alarm bells screaming in Clarke’s ears. “If this is some sort of _mission_ from your queen –,”

“It’s not – I wouldn’t –,” Clarke cut the girl off, her tone climbing into uncharted territory as the knife bit into the top layer of skin on her neck. Clarke jerked in the Commander’s grasp, attempting to free her hands as the other girl held firm, unrelenting. The look in her eyes –

“Why are you _lying_ to me, warrior?!” she pressed even more hotly, ferocity intermingling with hostility to create a mixture that was nearly grating to Clarke’s ears.

_It shouldn’t be possible, not from those lips…_

“I’m not – I’m not! _”_ Clarke practically shouted at the other girl, shaking her head furiously against the knife as the Commander almost _growled_ at her, wild-eyed and holding Clarke’s wrists so tightly that her hands were nearly numb now.

“L-look at me, look at my eyes!”

It was a last-ditch effort, a plea on the brink of desperation – but Clarke had to try.

Much to Clarke’s astonishment, the Commander did so immediately, cloudy green eyes boring down into widened blue with enough intensity to make Clarke flinch, curling back into the floor. She forced herself to meet the gaze, though, pouring as much sincerity and feeling into her expression as she spoke the next words ever-so-gently:

“I’m _not_ lying to you, Commander… I’m not on any mission, and I’m not trying to hurt her – I would _never.”_

The Commander’s eyes darted between Clarke’s own, seeming to fall back into that internal battle as she moved to scan the rest of Clarke’s face, expression wholly unreadable.

It was like Clarke had awakened some kind of rabid animal within the Commander’s person, every inch of her _screaming_ with trepidation and a need to protect what was hers from this intruding threat. It was pure, animalistic, and so uncharacteristic of the image she’d always had of this Commander that all other thoughts and words seemed to escape her, helpless only to stare back up at the girl and wait for her fate to be dealt.

(For the briefest of moments, Clarke wondered what it would be like to be on the other end of something so powerful – to be the one _protected_ by this girl instead of the one being protected _from_. The thought died as quickly as it’d appeared, though, there one second and gone the next.)

“What reason do I have to believe that you’re true to your word – that you won’t just run off and deliver what you’ve learned to your queen?” The Commander’s voice was much quieter now, steel undercut by something else, something implacable.

Clarke closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the blade dig into her skin once more as she swallowed noisily, knowing what the next words out of her mouth would be before her mind even processed their weight.

“When I was 12, Nia had my mother assassinated on the rumor of her possible collusion with other members of the Ice Court,” Clarke almost whispered, eyes meeting the Commander’s now as her own watered slightly, caught in the onslaught of memories. “It wasn’t true, of course, just a whisper of possible upheaval that Nia needed to quiet – and my mother happened to be collateral damage.”

The smallest hint of space was created between Clarke’s throat and the naked blade, the iron grip cuffing her wrists loosening to allow blood-flow.

“When I was 14, my father was publicly accused of the same crime and forced into hiding – forced to abandon me for something he didn’t do, would never even _think_ of doing after what’d happened to my mom… I found out that he’d been stabbed through the heart by one of my mentors while trying to protect a young mother and her baby from him in one of the far-off villages – that he’d only come out of hiding to _save_ them... That was less than three weeks ago.”

The Commander was looking down at her with something else entirely now, a crease forming between her brows as her lips formed a hard line. It wasn’t pity – no, it was much deeper than that.

If Clarke didn’t know any better, she’d have thought that it was something close to _grief_.

“I hadn’t seen him since he left, and I’m nearly 18 now…”

The blade was all-but gone now, the Commander having seemingly dropped her arm back down her to side almost unconsciously, the point of the knife facing up towards her own forearm. The pressure on Clarke’s sternum was barely more than a nuisance, the grip on her wrists surprisingly light now.

“I may follow her orders, but that doesn’t mean I’m her personal _servant_ … My duty might bind me, but my hands aren’t completely tied here.”

At that, Clarke glanced up at where the Commander still had her hands bound, the hint of a smile ghosting across her expression as she met the other girl’s opaque gaze.

“Well, they’re _technically_ tied at the moment, but –,”

With that, the Commander was rising gracefully to her feet, her grip adjusting to pull Clarke to hers in one swift motion. Clarke swayed on her feet a little at the sudden motion, the blood rushing to her head as she rubbed at her neck, unsurprised to find small specks of red on her fingertips as she pulled her hands away.

The Commander was studying her closely now, the space between them far less than what Clarke was accustomed to putting between herself and another person. It made her heart jump in her chest for some reason, her pulse pounding just as hard as it had when she was pinned to the floor with a knife at her neck.

Again, Clarke couldn’t help but feel that odd crackling in the air around them, the space transforming into a plane of existence where it was only them, only time. It was another world entirely, pulling Clarke into its wake like the force of water capturing one whose boot was trapped by rock, sinking deeper, further…

Swallowing against the weight of it pressing into her chest, Clarke cleared her throat, feeling the need to fill the space with something besides _them_ , that strange energy.

“So, am I, uh, off the hook then, so to speak?” Clarke inquired casually, doing her best to cancel out the admissions she’d just made with something as close to her usual level of nonchalance as she could muster.

The Commander narrowed her eyes a little, a flash of something fervent burning through her gaze before she could quash it, jaw working.

“No.”

Clarke closed her eyes, sighing deeply enough to deflate her entire body as she waited for what was to come.

“You will be assigned a guard, one of my own to accompany and watch you at all times – even after you return to Azgeda. He will make _sure_ that you remain true to your word...” Her tone was unquestionable, indisputable, and Clarke could do nothing more than listen, mouth falling open as the Commander took her by surprise yet again.

“Should you step even a _toe_ out of line again, I will know – and, rest assured, your death will _not_ come slowly at my hand.”

Clarke nodded enthusiastically, feeling something akin to glee blossoming in her chest as she marveled at her dumb luck – at the Commander’s mercy, more than anything, something she was as unaccustomed to as the feelings swirling in her gut at the moment.

“Do I make myself clear, Clarke Griffin of Azgeda?”

“Absolutely – _completely,”_ Clarke responded immediately, nodding her head some more for emphasis. She could almost _hug_ the other girl, she was so giddy.

“Thank you, Commander – _really_ , I –,”  
“Just…keep your word, Clarke,” the Commander cut her off mercifully, tone much softer now as she continued to stare at Clarke, expression verging on contemplation beneath opacity all of a sudden. “Keep your word to me, and that will be thanks enough.”

Clarke nodded vigorously, ignoring the flutter in her chest at how the Commander had said her name. The other girl nodded once in response, all but giving the signal for Clarke to get the hell out of there.

Sensing her time had come to an end, Clarke made to grab her weapons, quickly securing them back into their respective places all while she felt the Commander’s gaze searing into her back, prickling into her skin.

Without another word, she hastened to the door, at the edge of the darkened entryway when she heard:

“Did you mean what you said when you – do you really enjoy it? Killing, I mean?”  
The question stopped Clarke in her tracks, causing her to turn back around with wearier movements, brows furrowed.

“Do you?” she prompted quietly, genuine curiosity coloring her tone as the Commander seemed momentarily stunned by her response, mouth falling open as the crease between her eyes deepened.

She gathered herself quickly, though, expression falling back into that quiet thoughtfulness once more as her gaze seemed far off.

“I do what I must.”

It was barely an answer, but it was enough – enough for Clarke to catch the regret, the sorrow she felt deep within her own core.

Clarke simply nodded, turning back towards the entryway only to throw once last glance over her shoulder, tone incredibly gentle now.

“As do I… Maybe we aren’t so different after all, then.”

With that, Clarke turned on her heels, making her way into the darkness with the Commander’s gaze following her until she was completely out of sight.

 

\---

 

Later that night, Clarke was sitting around the fire listening to Micah berate her for what felt like the hundredth time for leaving him to fend for himself when a figure emerged from the darkness and into the firelight outside of their tents.

Clarke ignored the reactions of those around her, watching the man approach to the tune of swords being drawn and threats being made. She’d been expecting someone all evening, and she was pleased to find that the dark-skinned man with close-cropped hair was actually close to her age, his Trikru uniform striking a stark contrast to the furs of Azgeda closing in around him.

He simply ignored them, though, walking right up to Clarke as though he’d already memorized her face, an easy smile situated atop his features.

She rose to meet him, extending her arm to his in formal greeting as she fought the contagious urge to grin right back at him. Grasping onto her forearm, the man spoke, tone as friendly as if they were meeting in a pub somewhere.

“You must be Clarke Griffin,” he said, smile widening as she nodded in acknowledgement, squeezing her arm a little tighter. “I’m Wells of Trikru, and it looks like I'm going to be your new best friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious to hear your thoughts on this one, and hopefully there aren't any typos !!! 
> 
> Thanks for reading (((:


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap:  
> After being dropped at the Commander's feet and finding herself in an unlikely confrontation, Clarke went in search of Costia to find some clarity. Upon discovering that the missing puzzle piece in the Commander's hostile reaction to her was none other than Costia, herself, Clarke ends up under the watchful eye of a surprisingly friendly bodyguard named Wells and a boatload of unanswered questions hanging in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^^thought I'd carry the recaps over to this story, as well. I must admit - it definitely makes sense in terms of continuity purposes.
> 
> I hope all is well with you guys as we get closer to the end of this hellfire of a year that has been 2017! I'm nearly done with finals and off for the rest of the month, but in the meantime, here's the next installment of this indulgent piece lmao.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!!

This was not at _all_ where Clarke had expected to be – not in the dead of night on her second day in Polis, anyways…

Ontari had Wells at blade-point, expression hostile and poised to strike as Queen Nia sat back on her throne, considering. The woman tapped her fingers against the wooden arms of her chair, head cocking to the side as she studied Wells.

“So, you are telling me the Commander has assigned you this… _boy_ because you disobeyed her order and hunted on Trikru lands? Outside of the city wall?” Nia repeated slowly, testing every word of Clarke’s excuse on her tongue as if each was ripe with bitterness.

Clarke swallowed, fighting the urge to wince as she heard first-hand just how inadequate her explanation was. She nodded once, consciously focusing on keeping any and all emotion out of her features as Ontari scoffed, disbelieving.

It was only the four of them in the tent for whatever reason, the queen having demanded that her personal guard leave them in private with only Ontari to defend her.

Nia allowed her posture to go almost slack, sliding down in her chair as she appeared to be mulling this over in her mind. Far too soon, she sat back up, a wicked grin playing at the corners of her mouth as she fixed her gaze on Wells.

The warrior gulped in Clarke’s periphery, fairing surprisingly well up until this point given how suddenly – and with as much unnecessary force – he’d been captured for interrogation only moments after greeting Clarke.

“Tell me, Wells of Trikru – how long have you been serving in the Commander’s Guard under Lexa of Trikru?”

 _Lexa_.

It was hard to pay attention to the amount of malice dripping from Nia’s question with the mystery she’d just unknowingly solved for Clarke hanging in the air.

_Her name is Lexa…_

It suited the Commander, Clarke decided then and there, rolling the name over in her mind and wishing to some powerful degree that she could say it aloud – taste the sound of it on her tongue –

“One year,” Wells replied evenly, giving no more and no less than was asked of him – as well-trained a soldier as any.

Clarke’s gaze flickered over to him before she could catch herself, doing her best not to appear shocked at the generous amount of time he’d spent in the Commander’s personal guard given his alleged age.

Nia hummed at this, fingers flexing on her chair once more as she stood abruptly, striding up to Wells with her hands clasped in front of her. A disingenuous smile spread across her features as she came to a halt not three feet in front him, as poisonous a thing as Clarke had ever witnessed on the woman’s face. Ontari adjusted so that her blade was angled between Wells and the queen, Clarke fighting the unconscious chill that crawled up her spine at the sudden change in the air.

The queen had a flare for dramatics that was entertaining at best, ridiculous at worst, but this – this was something else entirely, a space she sometimes occupied that was as inhospitable as it was frightening, and Clarke found herself selfishly glad that the brunt of it wasn’t directed at her this time.

“And during this year you’ve spent in such close quarters with the Commander,” Nia continued, every bit of her coiled like a venomous viper eyeing the jugular of helpless prey, “how much of that was spent at her side, doing the personal bidding of such a _little_ girl?”

Wells’s jaw flexed at the insult, clearly fighting against some instinctual urge to lash out at the woman, but he simply remained still, expression fighting for neutrality as he met Nia’s gaze.

“What I have done and not done at the bequest of the Commander is none of your business, Queen Nia.”

Ontari’s blade was digging into the skin above a crucial vein in his neck before he’d even finished the sentence, a growl loosing through gritted teeth as she bristled at the disrespect. Nia, on the other hand – and much to everyone in the tent’s surprise – let out a bark of laughter, clapping once in sheer delight as she looked at Wells as if he was her new plaything.

“How _wonderful!_ ” she exclaimed brightly, looking to Clarke as if she’d just presented the Commander’s head to her on a spike.

Clarke’s brows furrowed slightly, unable to keep her confusion at bay as the woman continued to laugh. Even Ontari appeared momentarily perplexed.

“Oh, he’s _perfect!_ The little girl couldn’t have picked a better one if I’d instructed her myself!”

All three of the young warriors were looking at the queen in complete and utter bafflement now, each showing varying degrees of dread on their faces as they struggled to process the implications of Nia’s reaction.

“My queen?” Ontari spoke up after a few moments spent in the tense bubble of the queen’s mirthful laughter, voice as hesitant as one approaching a rabid and cornered dog.

Queen Nia ignored her, turning on her heels to stride back to her throne and bend to dig in the saddlebag hidden behind the back legs of the chair, voice muffled as she spoke again.

“I presume she’ll be wanting frequent if not daily reports on my army’s whereabouts and activities, yes?” The question was obviously directed at Wells who glanced at Clarke with widened eyes and his mouth slightly agape as if to say, _where on Earth is this going?_

“I’ll take that as a yes – good,” Nia concluded for him after moments more of silence, still bent forward and rustling through her bag as Ontari and Clarke shared a look, obvious apprehension present in both girls’ faces now.

The queen stopped her fussing and straightened suddenly, turning back to them with a pair of rusted scissors in one hand and a thin piece of twine in the other. The expression on her face was positively _malignant._

“I’d like you to bring the first of many messages back to the Commander, then, Wells of Trikru,” Nia commanded, tone haughty and imperious as she strode up to Clarke, surprising all three warriors as her eyes fixed on the girl, materials in-hand.

Without warning, the queen’s hand shot out, capturing a strand of Clarke’s hair near the area below her ear and making quick work of snipping it off with the scissors. Clarke barely had time to react, forcing herself to remain still for fear of moving too suddenly and catching the rusted blades against her skin.

Nia eyed the decent strand of hair, nodding to herself as if content and moving to tie it together with the twine.

“Hold out your hand, boy,” she demanded of Wells whose eyes flickered over to Clarke in something akin to panic before reluctantly presenting his left hand to her, palm-up. The queen tucked Clarke’s tied strand of hair into the crease in his palm, folding his fingers securely over it and patting his closed fist as if he were some kind of child holding a beloved toy of hers.

“Ontari,” Nia barked, snapping her fingers and pointing at Clarke.

The warrior moved to comply immediately, a hesitant look on her face as she stood in front of Clarke and met the girl’s weary gaze.

“Both palms.”

Clarke sighed beneath her breath, fully familiar with this ritual as it was one of Nia’s favorite games to play as a symbol of threatening. She presented both hands to Ontari palms-up, meeting the girl’s gaze with steady eyes and limbs as the warrior dragged the tip of her blade across both of Clarke’s hands.

Clarke barely felt it, her mind registering the minimal pain as nothing but a nuisance compared to what her body could endure.

“Clarke?” Wells’s voice was tinged with a surprising level of concern, Clarke feeling his eyes on her as she simply stared straight ahead, past Ontari and Nia into some other space of calmness, quiet.

Once she felt the blade removed from her skin, she turned to Wells who was gaping at her alarm, eyes flicking to her bleeding hands and back up. She met his widened eyes with apologetic ones, lips forming a hard line as she mouthed a subtle, _I’m sorry_ , reaching up as if to caress him and dragging her hands down both sides of his face. He remained perfectly still, eyes growing wider as he processed what she was doing – smearing her blood across every inch of his face.

Marking him.

“You will go to your Commander and present her with my gift,” Nia continued on in that same imperious tone, obvious pleasure present in every word as she watched Clarke do her handiwork. “You will tell her that, on the eve of next year’s winter, the two of you will enter our arena and fight ‘til the last warrior standing – that she has marked one of the two of you for death.”

Clarke’s movements stopped abruptly at that, her face contorting in something like shock as her heart throbbed painfully against her ribcage, stomach turning over itself. Wells matched her horrified expression in kind, frozen as if waiting for someone to discredit what he’d just heard. 

“My queen,” Ontari interjected, tone careful and placating as she attempted to appeal to Nia, “would it not be more prudent to –?”

“Would you like to join them in that arena, child?!” Nia cut her off brutally, practically shouting at the girl as Ontari recoiled, inclining her head in submission as she backed away from Clarke and slunk back to stand beside the throne, jaw clenched.

Clarke’s eyes flashed to the other girl, a grateful gesture directed at the other girl, but Ontari appeared to look right through her, unseeing.

“You will deliver this message and any other that I so desire – along with your timely reports, of course – until the time of your duel, at which point I will take great pleasure in seeing one or both of you useless beings brought to your demise… Make sure the little girl knows who is _responsible_ for that demise, boy.” Nia was up in Wells’s face now, head cocked to the side in that inadvertently threatening manner that made Clarke want to scream.

“Have I made myself clear?”

Wells remained stoic and silent, arms crossed behind him as he simply looked on, unmoved despite the blood hardening on his face. Clarke clenched her fists together, feeling a slight twinge in her palms as she dug her fingernails into the open wound there.

“Wonderful!” Nia exclaimed after an elongated silence, clapping once more as she leaned into Wells’s face. “Go now, and hurry right back! We wouldn’t want you to miss any of our activities now, would we?”

Wells stood there for a moment more, uncompliant, until Clarke finally nudged him with her right shoulder, giving him a look that spoke of grave promise should he choose to refuse her. With one last look of unhidden sorrow directed Clarke’s way, Wells turned on his heels and departed from the tent, hastening back to the tower to deliver the queen’s message to the Commander.

_To Lexa…_

Clarke found herself lost in thought for moments after that, her hands dripping crimson onto the cloth floor of the tent as she tried to picture the Commander’s face as Wells delivered his report –

“Oh, you’re still here?” Nia’s disgusted voice ripped her from her thoughts, Clarke focusing in on the queen now lounging on her makeshift throne once more. The woman rolled her eyes and gestured dismissively at Clarke, removing her blade from her belt to fiddle with it.

“Get out of my sight, child – _now.”_

Clarke was out of the tent and into the cool of midnight before Nia had even finished the sentence.

 

\---

 

Clarke couldn’t sleep.

It’d been hours since hers and Wells’s audience with Queen Nia, and her hands were starting to ache where she’d haphazardly bandaged them. She sat up on her bed roll, crossing her legs in front of her and holding her palms up to the flickering torchlight filtering in from the crack entrance to her cloth tent, barely more than a single beam.

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes and wishing for all the stars in the sky that she could be anywhere but there…

It was her fault, after all. If she hadn’t acted like a stupid little kid and gone outside the wall against all orders she’d been given, none of this mess would’ve ever happened – she and Wells wouldn’t have a ticking time bomb at their backs, Costia’s fate wouldn’t be inadvertently resting in her hands, and the _Commander_ –

Well, she didn’t exactly know where that thought was headed, but it wasn’t where she wanted it to be, and that was enough...

Perhaps this was the best possible outcome for this particular predicament, though. Nia hadn’t seemed to care about Clarke’s explanation for Wells’s assigned presence by her side, regardless of its validity, and had immediately seen some sick opportunity to draw out her games with the Commander. What was more – Costia had been kept out of it and, worse came to worse, Clarke could throw her duel with Wells.

She didn’t know why she was immediately inclined to put his well-being before hers, but it seemed in her mind the right thing to do, the natural thing, and Clarke puzzled at where that conclusion had been drawn from. She wasn’t much for self-preservation, it was true, but she didn’t believe that was the only reason – no, it was something else, something about the Trikru warrior that made her feel like he was inherently _good_ , that he deserved the chance to live a longer life than she ever would.

They’d known each other for all of five minutes, but that had been enough – enough for her to decide that he was worth whatever sacrifice she might have to make in the near or distant future, regardless of what it would cost her…

Sighing dramatically and shaking her head at her own baffling code of ethics, Clarke crab-legged off of her bedroll, moving to the center of the worn-down cloth floor of her tent and flopping down so that she was star-fished towards every corner. She closed one eye and focused the other on the tiny hole she’d torn in the top of her tent near the center pole, straining her eye to make out the dusting of stars far above her – the world that was as endless as hers was small.

Clarke held her hands up in front of her face, huffing at the blood that was now soaking through the cloth on both hands after her little maneuver. These kinds of cuts took _forever_ to heal, and Clarke nearly groaned at the prospect of having to wield any one of her blades in the near future –

A commotion outside of her tent caused Clarke’s head to whip around towards the entrance that was wholly unprotected and barely an excuse for cover. Before she could make to grab her blades or even move a muscle, really, the right flap was being pulled open, revealing a grave-looking and clean-faced Wells standing on the other side. The next moment, though, the warrior was stepping aside to hold the entrance wider for the black-clad figure of the Commander framed in intermingled moon and torchlight.

Clarke tried not to let her jaw drop as the Commander bent to stride into her tent, stopping short at the sight of Clarke who was halfway up into a sitting position where she was still sprawled in the middle of it. The Commander’s brows raised a fraction at the sight, lips twitching slightly with what Clarke wanted to believe was the ghost of a reaction. In the next instant, though, a shadow befell the Commander’s expression, her eyes fixed on Clarke’s bandaged hand resting near her boot.

“Commander? Wha-?”

Before Clarke could finish the question, the Commander was crouching down beside her, taking her bandaged hand in two calloused ones with a kind of gentleness that left Clarke breathless. The next moment, the Commander was unwrapping the haphazard dressing over Clarke’s wound and removing what appeared to be a tiny metallic cylinder from a deep pocket inside of her long-coat, opening it to reveal some kind of salve.

Clarke simply stared at the girl, dumbfounded, as she began to apply the salve to Clarke’s open wound, her movements so careful they could rival the brush of feathers as she refused to meet Clarke’s gaze.

“You protected her,” she stated quietly after a moment, a slight tremor taking Clarke by surprise as she worked the salve into Clarke’s skin. “You protected her – you kept your word, and I…I never intended –,” the Commander swallowed, clearly and uncharacteristically struggling over the words as her jaw clenched, her expression grave.

“I never meant for this to happen, I –,”

“For what to happen, Commander?” Clarke cut in softly, her voice calm and quiet as if in the hopes of dissipating that strange tremor in the other girl’s voice that was eliciting an odd stirring in Clarke’s gut.

The Commander stopped her ministrations, her throat bobbing in the faint light pushing through the widened gap in the entrance of Clarke’s tent. Her eyes flickered up to Clarke’s for the briefest of moments as if attempting to discern if the girl was serious, if she could really be asking such a thing.

Upon the disbelieving look on the Commander’s face, Clarke hummed in delayed comprehension, nodding to herself as she looked away from the other girl, lips pursed.

“Not your fault,” Clarke mumbled under her breath after a pause, her words barely audible even in the complete stillness of the tent. She could practically _feel_ the weight of the Commander’s incredulous stare on her in response.

“Not my –? How could you possibly –?!”

“Believe that?” Clarke finished for her, meeting the other girl’s gaze again as she continued to be gawked at. Clarke simply shrugged, falling into her usual nonchalance as the Commander remained perfectly still.

It was only then that Clarke noticed her hand still resting in the Commander’s, the other girl’s touch growing surprisingly warmer the moment Clarke processed it.

_How odd_ _…_

“You couldn’t have known,” Clarke continued after a moment, her eyes flickering back to the Commander’s boring into her own. “And if you really want to play the blame game between the two of us, I suppose I’d actually be the guiltier party here. I’m the one in Nia’s army, after all – I should’ve known that she’d pull something like this –,”  
“You are – you are going to blame _yourself_ for this? For _my_ not having known that Nia would…?” The Commander trailed off, her brows furrowing as she shook her head a bit, absolutely bewildered by Clarke’s thought process – as if she believed the girl in front of her had really and truly lost her mind.

Clarke’s hand felt like it was near an open fire at this point. She attempted to take her hand back, stifle the flames, but the Commander refused to let go, tightening her grip to a point that bordered on painful.

The two of them fell into another one of those strange staring contests they apparently couldn’t help but engage in, Clarke every bit as nonchalant as the Commander was rigid where neither refused to budge.

Again, it was as if the air responded in kind, crackling almost audibly around them as they took the liberty of contorting a moment neither one of them had any business altering…

After far too long spent pushing against nothing but the space between them, Clarke sighed, hanging her head and effectively snapping the moment back into place as she registered the quickened beating of her heart, the thrum of blood rushing in her veins.

_Just very_ _…_ _odd._

“Look, Commander,” Clarke spoke up after another moment, growing surprisingly antsy beneath the weight of the Commander’s weighted gaze on her still. “I’m exhausted, and my hands won’t stop aching long enough for me to get comfortable in any way, so I’d really appreciate it if we could just nix this whole conversation and save if for…well, never.”

She turned back to look at the other girl in that moment, a single eyebrow raising as the Commander continued to stare at her, incredulousness seeping into her expression the longer their eyes met.

After determining that Clarke was apparently serious and unrelenting, the Commander simply sighed, adjusting her grip on Clarke’s hand as she moved to apply more of the salve.

Clarke watched her in silence, lingering far too long on the spot where dark eyelashes brushed against upper cheek, a part of the Commander’s face that Clarke had yet to see bare of black paint. If the Commander only leaned the slightest bit closer, Clarke might’ve been able to reach out and run her free thumb across the plain beneath the girl’s eye –

“Do you typically stare at those whose company you keep?” the Commander inquired quietly, startling Clarke out of her trance.

Clarke blinked a couple of times, surprised to find her other hand in the Commander’s now, a fresh and carefully-wrapped bandage covering her left. Recovering, Clarke allowed a crooked grin to spread across her features, shrugging as the Commander met her gaze with a raised brow.

“Where else am I supposed to look?”

Clarke could’ve sworn the corners of the other girl’s mouth twitched at that, but whatever reaction Clarke could’ve gotten out of her was gone immediately, replaced by a narrowing of the girl’s eyes and a hard set to her mouth.

“Is it common for warriors of your ilk to speak to your superiors this way?” the Commander asked after a moment, genuine curiosity seeping into her tone as she continued to hold Clarke’s gaze. She still hadn’t let go of Clarke’s hand…

“How else am I supposed to speak to you, Commander?” Clarke retorted immediately, her brows shooting up as her smile grew wider. “Or do you prefer _your majesty_ , perhaps? Your _highness,_ even –?”

“I prefer not to be mocked, actually,” the Commander cut her off, rolling her eyes as Clarke chuckled softly.

Feeling a sudden surge of bravery swelling in her chest, Clarke scooched a little closer towards the Commander, leaning forward so that they were less than a foot apart – close enough that Clarke missed the bobbing of the Commander’s throat, the way the pulse at the base of her neck seemed to quicken.

“How would you like me to speak to you, Commander?” she repeated the question, her smile having softened into an expression of genuineness, a desire to understand.

The Commander simply stared at Clarke for a moment, her eyes flickering between Clarke’s a few times before settling again. They stayed close like that for an instant that froze time, that strange crackling biting at Clarke’s skin as she stared at the Commander, the other girl seemingly as entranced as she was with whatever was passing silently between them in that frozen second.

It was strange – and probably in Clarke’s imagination, truthfully – but she could’ve sworn that the moment before the Commander’s eyes had stilled on hers, they’d flickered lower for the briefest of seconds, lingering just long enough for her pupils to dilate infinitesimally with unspoken intentions –

Snapping whatever frame they’d frozen in half, the Commander gingerly folded Clarke’s fingers over the fresh bandage on her right hand, placing it back in Clarke’s lap as she moved to place the cap back on the salve. Without a word –and without looking at Clarke – she rose silently to her feet, brushing her long-coat off needlessly as she took the small couple of steps to the entrance of Clarke’s tent.

With one of the tent flaps in her right hand, the Commander stopped, throwing an opaque glance back over her shoulder to halfway gaze at a befuddled Clarke and add, with fervor:  
“I _will_ fix this, Clarke – regardless of whose fault it actually is.”

And, with that, she was gone, disappearing into the moonlight and leaving Clarke speechless.

 

\---

 

_Lexa. Lexa, Lexa, Lexa, Lexa, Lex –_

“For someone who prides herself on being an agent of stealth, you sure do a lot of _stomping_ everywhere you go,” Wells interrupted Clarke’s reverie, levity clear in his tone as he nudged Clarke with his shoulder, chuckling.

She scoffed at him, working her shoulders back haughtily as she shrugged, that cocky grin working its way across her face once more.

“What can I say – I like to keep people on their toes.”  
Wells laughed more loudly at that, the two of them continuing on through the brush far beyond the opposite side of the river away from the city. They were outside the city wall at the peak of midday, Wells having insisted that he take Clarke to his favorite spot from which to view the city and all its glory.

Clarke had complied easily, feeling the need to put as much space between herself and the tower as possible – the reason for which she was doing her best to ignore despite her mind’s constant reminders…

 _The way any light source always seems to frame her hair like it_ _’_ _s her own personal halo…it’s like she_ wants _me to look at her, isn’t it? I mean, why else would she have any right to_ look _like that all the time –?_

“Not much further, Stealthy,” Wells spoke up cheerfully, startling Clarke slightly as she physically shook her head to clear it of selfish indulgence. He was smiling to himself in Clarke’s periphery, as oblivious to Clarke’s inner monologue as Clarke was to what the two of them were actually _doing_ out this far beyond the wall, aforementioned plans aside.

She’d avoided Klaw’s and Micah’s questions about Wells all morning, keeping herself as far out of their reach – and Ontari’s, for good measure – as possible. The Azgeda army’s orders – or lack, thereof, at this point – had remained the same, which meant that Clarke could take the liberty to do whatever the hell she wanted for the time-being as long as she stayed out of the queen’s way.

Besides, her fate – and that of the chipper warrior by her side at all times now – had already been dealt; the least any of her peers could do would be to just leave her alone, allow her to sulk or grieve or whatever normal people typically did upon being handed a death sentence. Not that Clarke would know anything about _grieving_ , though...

She was more of the stifle-your-emotions-deep-within-your-psyche-and-keep-going-one-step-at-a-time-until-something-catastrophic-occurred type. It’d worked well enough so far – through the death of two parents, that is – so why change anything now?

“Not that I’m questioning your choice of distraction from the time bomb on both our backs – because I’m really and truly _not_ – but what in the _world_ are we doing out here?” Clarke asked him after a bit, gazing around exasperatedly and making a show of her dramatics as Wells simply chuckled at her again. “If you’re trying to show me the city or whatever, I _do_ _believe_ we’re going the wrong way –,”

“Just trust me, Stealthy,” Wells cut her off happily, looping his arm through hers to pull her more quickly along with him. “It’ll be worth it – I promise.”  
“Call me that _one_ more time. I _dare_ you –,”  
Before she could finish her threat, though, Wells was tugging her down behind a gathering of rocks, holding a finger over his lips and pointing down the sharp incline on the opposite side of the rocks. Clarke glanced over them, surprised to note the immediacy of the incline and the angle at which it went, a smattering of trees marking the way towards a flat stretch of grass – a meadow, if Clarke had ever seen one – that interrupted the flow of forest.

Much to Clarke’s delight, there were at least four people in the meadow that she could see, dancing around each other to the tune of clanging metal and whooping shouts – sparring practice, no doubt.

Her grin widened, moving to emerge from behind the rocks and make her way down to them to join in when Wells jerked her back, a stern expression on his face. She looked back at him in displeasure, tugging her arm again as he refused to budge.

“Look at them, and then look at you, Clarke,” he commanded in a harsh whisper, eyes darting purposefully down her uniform and back up to meet her gaze. “They’ll take one look at you and assume you’re holding me hostage or chasing me or something… There’s no way I’m letting you go down there.”

“Oh, come _on_! What about your mission?” Clarke pressed in that same heightened whisper, feeling like she was propositioning an older brother-type for a little more playtime. “I mean, they’ve gotta know that one of their own is tailing an Azgeda chick, right?”

Wells lips flattened into a hard line as he looked away, purposefully avoiding her eyes as the secrecy of it all finally dawned on her. She groaned, face-palming and shaking her head in exasperation as she glanced back down the hill again, much more longingly this time.

 _I need this… He can’t know how much – or_ why _– I need this, but I just…I do._

Upon a longer glance, Clarke was able to discern a face or two of those sparring in the meadow – all of whom looked at least somewhat close to her in age, all in Trikru garb. They were laughing, joking, completely oblivious to the lingering voyeurs a little ways up the hill from their joyous scene.

Just as Clarke was about to open her mouth to beg like a petulant child, an idea struck her – one that was sure to warrant a great deal of protest and criticism from Wells.

One that was absolutely _perfect_.

\---

“Care to take on two more?”

Clarke’s question stopped the sparring warriors in their tracks, the four of them turning to gawk at her and an apprehensive Wells trailing a couple of steps behind.

There were two guys and two girls, the four of them drenched in equal parts sweat and dirt, their Trikru uniforms stripped to the bare necessities as they appeared to be succeeding against the light winter chill in the air.

“Wells?” The tallest boy came forward, wavy black hair sticking to the tanned skin of his face above a sprinkling of freckles, sweat glistening on every inch of his bare – and ridiculously chiseled – torso. His voice was deep and gravelly, like rock scraping against rock. “Who the hell is this?”

He gestured at Clarke, brows raising as his eyes swept her figure up and down. Clarke smirked at him in response, unbothered by his obvious ogling.

It made sense, after all – she was in nothing but her black chest bindings and dark cargo pants, the likes of which could be found on the person of any warrior across the twelve clans. Her feet were bare of her usual fur boots, revealing the meticulous designs inked onto the tops of her feet. Her other tattoo covered the distance between her shoulder blades, curling down to wrap around her upper arms in the shape of a griffin’s wings, the torso of the creature spanning the length of her muscular back. None of her tattoos were particularly revealing of her allegiances – which was precisely the reason why Wells had begrudgingly agreed to her _revealing_ plan when all was said and done.

Besides, the city wasn’t going anywhere, and what better way to kill time until sunset – the time during which _all_ viewings typically tended to go best – than to get some sword practice in?

“She’s, uh…this is Clarke, a friend of mine visiting the capitol from…Broadleaf,” Wells responded slowly, carefully, the lie a little grating to Clarke’s ears as he came to a stop beside her. He swallowed nervously in her periphery, showing his contempt for her plan exceptionally clearly on his face as she simply smiled at him, innocent of all wrong-doing.

“Yeah, right,” one of the girls scoffed, coming forward to stand beside the taller boy as she undid her black hair and proceeded to tie it into a tighter ponytail. “Broadleaf warriors are built like twigs – this girl’s solid _rock_.”

Clarke grinned crookedly at the roundabout compliment, clearly giving the opposite reaction to what the other girl had intended as the dark-haired girl rolled her eyes in Clarke’s direction.

“Seems a bit of an unfair generalization to make on Broadleaf’s behalf, eh?” Clarke responded easily, sensing a spark in the other girl similar to the one that kindled deep in her own chest. “I could say a thing or two about Trikru if you really wanna go there –,”  
“Not necessary,” Wells cut her off quickly, stepping forward and angling his body as if to create a barrier between Clarke and his peers. He gestured towards the dark-haired girl now glaring at Clarke.

“Clarke, this is Raven – Raven, Clarke.” Clarke curtsied playfully towards the other girl who, much to Clarke’s amusement, allowed a corner of her mouth to tick up at Clarke’s gesture.

“That’s Bellamy,” Wells continued, ignoring Clarke’s theatrics and pointing towards the tall freckled boy beside Raven who nodded once in acknowledgement. “And that’s Octavia and Finn.” He indicated each of them from left to right, both ducking their heads in greeting as he did so.

Finn, though… The boy named Finn was just _staring_ at her, looking at her as if she was the moon that hung the stars, and he but a lonely observer.

 _Oh_ hell _no…_

“Think you can take me, Broadleaf?” the girl named Octavia spoke up, raising a challenging brow and inclining her head in the direction of Clarke’s sword sheathed at her waist.

She came forward to stand beside Bellamy who bore the slightest resemblance to her, the boy glancing sideways at her with obvious fondness.

“Abso _lutely_.”

Clarke’s sword was already drawn before she’d finished speaking the word – and off they went.

 

 

Sweat dripped into her eyes in streams, her fingers speckled with blood where she pulled them away from her bottom lip. Clarke smiled appreciatively, feeling the split in her lip deepen as she did so, grinning up at Octavia who was offering her arm as a boost up.

“That makes three-all,” the other girl quipped between breaths, her own face dripping and covered in tiny cuts as she helped Clarke out of the grass. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”  
Clarke laughed as she steadied herself, pulling her arm across her chest to stretch it out as she shook her head.

“Not in my nature, I’m afraid,” she replied good-naturedly, glancing over at Wells and Bellamy engaged in yet another round of swordplay, Wells clearly holding back as he refused to flaunt his tactical advantages over the other boy.

_Now I know the reason he’s a part of the Commander’s Guard – and it’s not just because he’s discreet…_

Finn and Raven were off to the side of the meadow, engaged in conversation at the telltale proximity of lovers – though Clarke didn’t miss the way Finn’s eyes kept drifting over to her at random intervals, Raven clearly not paying it much mind as she continued to ramble on beside him.

“You’ll have to tell me how you get back muscles like those some time, Broadleaf,” Octavia spoke up, nudging Clarke in the shoulder blade as Clarke simply laughed, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Rock-climbing, mostly – any kind of climbing, actually,” Clarke answered happily, bending to pick her sword up from where Octavia had disarmed her. “It’s great for the upper-body, and it’s a nice change of pace from swinging blades around if you need that sort of thing.”

Octavia turned and furrowed her brows in Clarke’s direction, confusion lighting her sharp features.

“Rock-climbing, huh? I was always under the impression that Broadleaf was kind of…well, _not_ rocky –,”

A familiar wolf whistle sounded from somewhere behind Clarke, the sound of it sending a chill down her spine. She whirled around, jaw working back and forth as Klaw and Maleki bounded down the hill towards them with a reluctant-looking Micah in tow, all three of them sporting their full Azgeda uniforms.

“Azgeda _scum_!” Octavia shouted, clearly bristling at the unsavory sound and lurching forward as if to charge them before Clarke caught her by the forearm, pulling her back as Wells materialized beside Clarke, Bellamy with him.

“Putting on a show for the tree-humpers, Clarke?” Klaw called to her in the tongue of Azgeda, making a point of doing so as he addressed her.

Wells tensed beside Clarke, clearly comprehending the insult as Octavia pulled her arm from Clarke’s grasp and turned on her, expression incredulous.

“What the hell did he just say?! How the hell does he know your name?!” Octavia nearly shouted in Trigedasleng, clearly ready to condemn Clarke at the drop of a hat as Clarke sighed heavily.

She glanced at Wells who was glaring unkindly at Klaw, his hand twitching towards the small blade still sheathed at his hip.

_Great. Just great…_

“Leave us alone, Klaw – mind your own damn business,” Clarke called back to the warrior in their native tongue, both incriminating and exonerating herself as Klaw and Maleki shared a look.

Before she even had the chance to gauge their reactions properly, though, Clarke found herself being tackled to the ground, a furious Octavia poised to rain her fists down as Clarke was helpless to do anything more than bring an arm up to protect her face.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Klaw and Maleki leaving Micah in the dust as they charged the rest of the way down the hill, Bellamy and Wells coming forward to meet them.

 

And, just like that, Clarke had a brawl on her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone and everyone taking the time to leave feedback on this story!! It's much appreciated and never goes un-read <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap:  
> Finding an opportunity unknowingly presented to her by the Commander, Queen Nia all-but sentences Clarke to death at a time in the far-too-near future that leaves her reeling. Before Clarke even has time to catch her breath, the Commander suddenly appears in Clarke's tent in the dead of night to tend to her wounds and leave her with cryptic promises and a need to blow off some steam. Finding an opportunity amongst some sparring Trikru warriors close to her age, Clarke takes the liberty of hiding her identity from them in order to join in - much to Wells's disgruntlement. This, of course, backfires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some say the world will end in fire,  
> Some say in ice.  
> From what I've tasted of desire  
> I hold with those who favor fire.  
> But if it had to perish twice,  
> I think I know enough of hate  
> To say that for destruction ice  
> Is also great  
> And would suffice.  
> \- Robert Frost

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Octavia could throw one hell of a punch.

Her right-hook, in particular, was especially _pleasant_ when it made contact with unprotected skin, the rings on several of the girl’s fingers only making themselves known when they were digging into Clarke’s abdomen. Not only that, but the sheer ferocity with which Octavia landed every blow left Clarke scrambling to think past the awestruck haze clouding her vision in order to actually _defend_ herself.

There were shouts all around, multiple pairs of voices loosing unnecessary battle cries as metal clanged against metal, knuckles and steel-toed boots making a home of soft spots and future bruises. Clarke could only spare a glimpse or two beyond the reality of her situation which was entirely dominated by _Octavia_ to discern what was happening – Klaw and Maleki engaged in a full-out duel with Wells and Bellamy, Finn holding Raven back off to the side as Micah simply stood on the hill, his torso halfway turned as if he was prepared to run for it at any moment. 

Octavia struck an especially painful blow to a tender spot at the top of Clarke’s ribcage, causing her to cry out as her breath was taken from her. Seeing another opportunity presented to her by the onslaught of Clarke’s reaction, Octavia landed one of the few hits she’d managed to strike on Clarke’s face, this time catching at the girl’s lower lip with one of her rings with pointed precision.

_Oh_ hell _no…_

Up until that point, Clarke had been somewhat removed from her own body, throwing up haphazard defenses and parrying blocks in favor of watching Octavia move, studying the raw emotion she seemed to incorporate into every motion – far less reserved than during sparring practice, as it were. It was like watching a series of firecrackers spark and blow, one after the other in perfect succession, and Clarke would’ve been inclined to take notes had she not been on the receiving end of this particular assault – and if she were literate, of course.

But, this? Her _face?_

_Too far – one hell of a nope._

Sucking some much-needed air back into her lungs, Clarke allowed an obligatory yell to spring from her chest as she dug her elbows into the grass beneath her in the breath between Octavia’s strikes, providing the support for her hands to catch the girl’s fist in her own as it came down toward its intended target – Clarke’s collarbone. Grunting in surprise, Octavia tried to pull back, bringing her other arm around with the obvious intention to break Clarke’s wrist attached to the hand holding hers in place, but Clarke saw it coming; she caught it with her other hand, quickly moving so that she had the other girl’s hands fists held in her own crossed one over the other, forming an “x.”

On the next breath, Clarke pushed her weight into her shoulders still pressed against the hard ground and used the brace to maneuver her legs slightly upward from where Octavia had them straddled. Before the other girl could even flinch, Clarke jerked her legs out from under Octavia and forced her knees to her chest to gather momentary momentum before forcing them up and out, landing a solid blow to Octavia’s chest with the full force of her muscle while simultaneously letting go of her hold on the girl’s hands.

Just as Clarke had intended, Octavia practically _flew_ backwards, the force of Clarke’s kick sending the girl stumbling away from Clarke’s prone form with surprising velocity. Grinning rather smugly to herself, Clarke pressed her hands flat against the ground on the space beside her head, gathering the necessary strength in her forearms to launch herself up and onto her feet in an arc-like motion – if only to show off that she _could_.

Feeling her adrenaline finally catching up to her current predicament, Clarke grabbed the small hunting blade from the band in her waist, unsurprised to find a bloody outline where the blade had been digging into her bare skin as Octavia had pinned her down. Utterly clueless as to where her sword was, Clarke crept forward regardless, approaching a prone Octavia slowly with her blade poised at the ready.

“ _Don’t touch her!!”_ Bellamy roared from off to Clarke’s right, causing Clarke’s head to whip around towards him as he made to charge her. Before he could even make it a step, though, Maleki pulled him up short, rearing up to kick the other boy in the center of his back and sending him toppling to the ground.

The next moment, though, Clarke’s attention was directed back to Octavia as the other girl loosed a yell, pushing herself off the ground with her longsword drawn and running full-tilt at Clarke. Finding herself at an utter disadvantage in terms of weaponry and sheer position, Clarke sighed a little, digging her heels into the ground only to duck beneath Octavia’s messy first swing, the girl’s momentum too forward for her to strike a clean blow.

When all was said and done, Clarke didn’t actually want to _hurt_ the other girl – she didn’t want _anyone_ getting hurt, really. She just…well, if she was being really honest with herself, she’d just wanted to let go for a little while and not think about anything of importance in the company of people her own age. If she’d _actually_ wanted to hurt any of them, she could’ve done so multiple times over by now, brawl aside. She’d just wanted to make some friends, and now they were –

“Look out, Clarke!!” came Micah’s yell from somewhere behind Clarke, obvious alarm present in his voice as Clarke turned just in time to see Raven breaking free from Finn’s hold and sprinting towards the melee, Clarke her obvious target.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…_

Clarke side-stepped Octavia’s next swing, keeping her hunting blade raised to parry as Raven fell into step beside Octavia, both girls creeping towards a slowly-back-peddling Clarke with positively _murderous_ expressions on their faces.

_Well, I suppose if I have to die young, why not go out at the hands_ _–_ _and blades_ _–_ _of two ridiculously beautiful women? It’d be a far-cry better than my other alternative –_

“ _WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE?!”_

The sheer volume of the question halted everyone in their tracks, the lot of them flinching in surprise as they turned to gawk at its source. Clarke heard several gasps go up as their attention was directed towards three figures shrouded in the shadow of tree cover some ways up the hill, making their way down towards the meadow as Micah scrambled off at a diagonal to their approach.

A moment later, the first figure emerged from the shadows, her sharp and unforgiving features accentuated by dark war paint and framed with brownish-blonde hair. The next instant, her two companions were made visible at her flank, one of them a younger girl with a forcefully-hard expression, the other a tall and muscular man with a single strip of hair shaved close down the center of his scalp. They were all adorned in the fully-equipped uniform of Trikru warriors, and Clarke nearly allowed a groan to slip through her lips as she found herself utterly screwed once again.

“Anya! We were just –,” Wells spoke up first, his words cut off by a wheezy cough Clarke was all-too-familiar with – those first few words after being punched in the gut, _hard_.

“Trying to kill each other in the sparring meadow?” the woman named Anya finished for him, her tone cold, unfeeling. She looked to Maleki and Klaw, did a once-up of their uniforms, and nearly growled. “And trying to start a _war_ in the process, I take it?!”

“N-no, it wasn’t like that, we –,”  
“I do not _care_ what it was _like_ ,” Anya interrupted Octavia with brutal force, her expression growing more and more furious by the minute. “I come here to train my second and find some peace _away_ from you all, and what do I find? A bunch of children engaged in a scuffle with Azgeda _filth!!”_

Octavia seemed to flinch back in Clarke’s periphery, her gaze flying desperately to the man beside Anya who appeared utterly unmoved by his surroundings. Raven, on the other hand, had her gaze fixed on Anya, the thickness of her swallow apparent even from where Clarke was standing.

“ _What_ did you just –?!”  
“Leave it, Klaw,” Clarke cut him off sharply, stepping forward towards the Trikru elder with her hands palm-out before her, her blade tucked back into her waistband. “This is my fault, please don’t take it out on any them. They were all just…here.”

Anya fixed her gaze on Clarke immediately, an odd flash of recognition dawning on her features before Clarke could really register what it meant. She crossed the short distance between them, her expression one of barely-contained violence as she lorded her height over Clarke, mere feet between them now.

“And what exactly _is_ your fault, child?” Anya asked quietly, her voice pointedly slow and malicious as Clarke fought the urge to scoff at the nickname. She held firm, though, simply meeting Anya’s hostile expression with steady eye-contact and calm footing.

“They were sparring, and I wanted to join. They didn’t know who I was for… _obvious_ reasons.” Clarke motioned to her relatively bare frame now covered in blood stains and newly-formed bruises.

Anya narrowed her eyes slightly, giving Clarke the smallest hint of a onceover as her lips pressed into a hard line. She turned to Wells who appeared to be fighting the urge to step between them.

“Is this true?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, nodding his head vigorously as if relieved to have been presented the opportunity to defend Clarke. “I tried to stop her, but I felt like it would be harmless enough, and I –,”

“Allowed her to enter an unguarded arena with superior soldiers from an opposing clan?” Anya finished for him, her tone hard and hinting at exasperation now.

“Well, hold on now,” Clarke spoke up quickly, holding up a finger as if to signal that it was her turn to speak for herself. “I’d hardly call this…grassy area an _arena_ , and I was holding my own just _fine_ , thank you _very much_ –,”

“You should probably stop talking now,” Raven interrupted suddenly, her words causing Clarke’s head to whip around in surprise. Raven’s eyes widened warningly when they met Clarke’s, her lips pursing as if to say, _read the metaphorical room, idiot._  
Clarke’s mouth was left hanging open as she inadvertently complied, gawking at Raven as the girl simply turned back to look at Anya, a weighted intensity overtaking her features the longer she stared at the woman.

Before Clarke could take the time to gauge the many ways she might die reflected in the glint of Anya’s eyes, though, Wells was making his way through her periphery and up to the warrior, herself, leaning in to whisper something long-winded in her ears.

“Whatever this is – whatever you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Griffin – you’re on your own,” Maleki spoke up suddenly, switching from Trigedasleng to their native tongue as he placed a guiding hand on Klaw’s shoulder, forcing the other man away from his occupation of glaring laser beams into the back of Anya’s skull. The Trikru warriors looked to both men with uneasy expressions on their faces, clearly uncomprehending of his words. Wells and Anya, on the other hand, seemed to be in a completely different dimension noq, engaged in a quietly heated discussion amongst themselves as Anya’s two companions gave them a respectful breadth of space.

“We don’t have to answer to these idiots, and neither do you. Think past your fantasies of peace with these _inbreeds_ and remember who your _real_ leader is.”

With that, the two of them turned to storm off in the direction of the trees, neither of them looking back to see if they were being followed. Bellamy and Octavia made to give chase, but the warrior beside Anya moved to stop them, his arms extended in front of him in a gesture of simultaneous placation and peace.

“Come on, Lincoln – we can’t just let them _go_ –,”

“That is exactly what you are going to do,” Anya cut Bellamy off suddenly, stepping back towards the group with Wells beside her, his worried expression fixed entirely on Clarke once more. “You all are going to go back to your tents and pretend like none of this ever happened. If anyone inquires after your cuts and bruises – which I assure you they won’t – tell them you tripped and fell down a hill or something, I don’t care. But if I hear a _single word_ of this incident from anyone outside of this circle, I will come and find _each one of you_ myself – and I am sure you won’t like what happens after I do… Do I make myself clear?”

A chorus of “yes, General” immediately followed the question, the four Trikru warriors hurrying to recover themselves and their belongings before heading in the opposite direction that Maleki and Klaw went in. Clarke tried not to pay too much attention to the varying degrees of contempt directed her way as the four of them left the field; contempt from three of them, that is – Finn displayed something far too close to longing for Clarke’s liking.

Finding her cue at last, Clarke turned in the most likely direction of her longsword and made to grab it. Much to her disgruntlement, though, she only made it two steps before a hand came down hard on her shoulder, abruptly halting her in her tracks.

“Not so fast,” came Anya’s cold voice from behind her, the warrior forcefully turning Clarke around to face her. She fixed Clarke with the darkest of glares, a joyful – and frightening – glint in her eye.

“I think we should see what the Commander makes of this behavior. Shall we?”

_Oh,_ fuck _me…_

 

\---

“We’re supposed to be allies, right? Friends, even? Well, newsflash _buddy_ – friends don’t let other friends unknowingly disrespect a _general_ only to get taken in for another _wrist-slapping_ from the Commander –,”

“Okay, first of all,” Wells interrupted Clarke’s tirade, holding up a finger to emphasize his point, “we _are_ friends – or, at least, we’re getting there – but I can’t exactly stop you from taking off all your clothes and storming into a meadow full of angsty teenagers with swords!! Besides, you have a naturally disrespectful disposition, and you probably wouldn’t have heeded any warning I chose to give anyways –,”

“Well, I guess we wouldn’t know now, would we?” Clarke interjected in kind, side-stepping a merchant’s cart just in time not to get trampled by it. “And I _am_ wearing clothes, just not as _many_ as usual… Also, I have a positively _delightful_ disposition, so I really resent the hell out of everything you just said.”

Wells huffed exasperatedly, gesturing his dismissal of the argument as they continued along the central pathway to the tower behind a hastening Anya and her companions. Clarke, for her part, was far too busy actively ignoring the stares and gasps from onlookers and passerby who happened to catch a glance of the half-clothed warrior covered in blood, cuts, and bruises strolling happily through the heart of their city.

She found herself stepping over the threshold of the lower door to the tower far too soon for her liking, and was even less thrilled with how quickly the lift was able to bring her to the floor of the throne room. The group of them began the short trek to the room, and Clarke found herself lost in the puzzling thoughts of one left with a grim afternoon once more...

Anya had taken the kind _liberty_ to gather Clarke’s clothes and strewn weapons for her, and the general apparently hadn’t thought it necessary to return the former or the latter to the girl before her impromptu audience with the Commander.

_Lexa…_

Clarke looked down at her hands still bandaged by the Commander’s dressings which were now unsurprisingly soaked through with blood and covered in grime. For no reason in particular, she traced the fingers of her left hand down the hard line of her abdomen leading to her hip, scratching lightly at the dried blood now caked onto her skin in far too many places.

_Nothing a little whisky won’t fix later…_

The clearing of a throat pulled Clarke from her reverie, her head snapping up as her eyes widened in immediate surprise to find herself mere yards away from the Commander now, the girl perched in the seat of her lofted throne and devoid of the usual bodies who typically surrounded her at all times. She’d apparently zoned out for the entirety of their entrance to the room, having missed all formal introductions and departures completely, the eyes of all those left in the room now glued to her person.

The only pair she cared about, though, were as opaque as usual, but there was something else present there, if only in the briefest of flickers – something like _agitation_. But, it wasn’t at all like the kind of agitation Clarke was used to having directed her way; no, if Clarke wasn’t mistaken – and she was sure she had to be – it was more like… _yearning_.

_Well, now you’re just full of yourself, aren_ _’_ _t you?_

Even more to her surprise, Wells and Anya were the only other people besides the Commander with Clarke now, Lincoln and Anya’s second having apparently left with everyone else. Wells was looking at Clarke expectantly, Anya with unhidden disgust.

“The Commander asked you a question, branwoda,” Anya spat threateningly, using a Trigedasleng insult Clarke had never heard before. She cringed a little, screwing her mouth up a bit as she attempted to recollect the question she’d apparently missed entirely.

“Uh…sorry, could you just…repeat that maybe?” Clarke forced out with painful slowness, watching with dread as Wells fought the urge to go into cardiac arrest in front of her.

Before she could get an answer to her question, though, Anya was towering over her, a hand gripping roughly onto the skin connecting her neck and shoulder. The warrior bared her teeth at Clarke, her eyes lighting with fury.

“You _will_ show the Commander the respect she deserves, or I swear I will –,”  
“Anya, _enough!!_ ” the Commander shouted with surprising fervor, Clarke peeking over Anya’s shoulder to watch as the girl was suddenly on her feet and coming down a step from her throne. “Leave us!”

Anya nearly growled with disgust as she hesitated for the briefest of moments, squeezing Clarke’s neck a little tighter as Clarke winced a little, before letting go. She spat at Clarke’s feet, making a dramatic show of her contempt before turning back to the Commander and bowing.

“Yes, Commander.”

With that, she turned on her heels and made her way from the room with Wells at her flank, throwing Clarke one last murderous glare before the two of them disappeared into the hallway. Clarke watched the door as it closed, feeling the swing and click somewhere deep in her chest cavity as she stared at the wooden barrier that now marked where freedom had once been.

Sighing beneath her breath, Clarke turned back around to face the throne only to nearly be forced out of her skin by the Commander who was standing mere feet from her now, having made her way to Clarke in near silence. The girl was searching Clarke’s face, unmoved by the fact that she’d nearly stopped Clarke’s heart only moments before, the strangest expression on hers as she did so – as if the opacity had suddenly given way to far too many emotions to name at one time.

They stood there like that – the Commander searching and Clarke trying to catch her breath – for what felt like hours in a matter of seconds, that strange energy engulfing them both and transforming time into a non-linear construct that was as impossible to describe as it was to escape. Only, the energy was slightly different this time – more prickly, _agitated_ , as though Clarke had been standing in raw sunlight for a little too long and she needed….well, she needed to _move_.

Without realizing what she was doing, Clarke was stepping closer, giving in to that need requiring her to _do something_ – although, why that something meant moving closer to _Lexa_ , Clarke really couldn’t say… All she knew now was that the Commander’s lips had parted, a shallow breath forcing its way in as she watched Clarke study them unsubtly, transfixed on the curve of them, the fullness.

They were only a foot or so away now, and all Clarke had to do was lean in, keep moving, and she might be able to capture them –

The Commander cleared her throat again, snapping Clarke out of whatever illusion she was currently weaving for herself, and she felt herself doing something close to blushing for quite possibly the first time in her life. She forced her feet to shuffle a few steps back – almost a few steps too _many_ – as she fixed her gaze on them, wholly embarrassed by whatever the hell had just caused her to behave in such a way.

_You really want to get yourself killed, don’t you?_

“Are you hurt?” the Commander asked after moments more spent in tense silence, breaking the metaphorical ice at last. Her tone was even, reserved, as though any and every shred of what might be construed as _Lexa_ had been purposefully tucked away for the time-being.

Clarke looked up then, eyes widening and comprehension dawning on her features as she realized that this had been the question she’d neglected to process earlier on. She simply shook her head, looking back down at her feet in uncharacteristic shyness.

It was the complete opposite of what she’d expected in every way – nothing like, _you again?_ Or _shouldn’t you have gotten the hell out of my city by now?_

She felt the Commander’s eyes on her, felt the girl appraising her scantily-clad frame as she wished more than anything that Anya had thrown her a bone and returned her clothes before they’d gotten to the tower.

After painful moments more, Clarke heard:

“Follow me.”

Dumbstruck, Clarke’s head snapped up in time to see the Commander striding from the room, not looking back to see whether or not Clarke was following suit. Feeling the need to recover her dignity for a multitude of reasons, Clarke sprang into action, hastening after the Commander as the girl rounded the corner into the hallway and went off in the opposite direction of the elevator.

_Uh-oh…_

Clarke paid little attention to where they were going, keeping her eyes glued to the Commander’s back as the girl led her down the hall and into a plain room with a large window and a carefully-made bed in the corner. Clarke stopped just inside the entrance of the room, brows furrowing in confusion as her eyes scoured the seemingly-uninhabited bedroom.

“Wait here,” the Commander told her, disappearing around the far corner of the room into what was apparently a washroom. Clarke stood rooted in place, her confusion growing more and more all-encompassing by the second and spiking as she heard the telltale sound of water being released from a faucet.

Clarke’s heart rate spiked a little as her mind continued to shuffle through the possible scenarios as to why she was here, what the Commander was doing. Before she could land on anything conclusive, though, the girl was striding purposefully back into the room, stopping midway between Clarke and the door with her hands clasped behind her back, expression aloof.

“All of the washrags are clean, and the soaps are unused,” the Commander told her, tone almost academic in its impersonality. “The healing salve is in the metal tin and it should do the trick for most of those cuts on your side. I can have one of my handmaidens attend to you if you cannot reach them all on your own, though.”  
Clarke simply stared at the girl, mouth parted in pure shock as her mind struggled to compute what was happening.

“You…ran me a… _bath?”_

Much to Clarke’s surprise, the Commander actually looked away from her then, jaw working as she struggled to contain whatever reaction she was holding back. After only a moment, though, her gaze was fixed back on Clarke once more, expression as unreadable as ever.

“It was my warriors who attacked you, and my general who dragged you here without proper cause,” the Commander stated plainly, as if these were simply facts she was reciting from memory. “It would be tasteless for me to force an audience upon you in your…current state – especially in light of recent events.”

The Commander swallowed, showing the briefest flicker of some indiscernible emotion as the cogs in Clarke’s mind finally began to shudder to life.

_The Commander_ _…_ _of Trikru…ran me a…bath…_

_Lexa_ _…_ _ran me a bath_ _…_

_I’m definitely fighting a concussion here – maybe something even more severe, like an aneurysm or an alternate dimension –_

“Clarke?”

The question startled Clarke out of her reverie, causing the girl to shake her head a little as if to physically rid herself of pesky mental fog. The Commander was looking at her rather expectantly now – waiting for an acceptance of her hospitality, no doubt.

“I…yeah,” Clarke stuttered, nodding a little as if coming back to herself. The Commander narrowed her eyes in confusion at the response. “Whose, uh…whose room is this?”

Lexa’s brows pinched even further, obviously perplexed as to where Clarke’s mind was at present.

“No one’s, everyone’s,” she answered evenly, honestly. “It is simply one of many places of refuge within the tower that a guest or resident might seek should they so desire it.”

Clarke nodded slowly once again, doing another onceover of the room as the Commander watched her.

“Well,” Clarke spoke up after a while, tucking her hands into her pockets and fixing Lexa with an easy grin, “the _refuge_ is much appreciated, then.”

Lexa watched her for a moment more, eyes scanning Clarke’s face and lingering on the crooked smile with something close to fascination before nodding her acceptance of the roundabout thanks. She made her way towards the door then, giving herself a wide berth from Clarke before turning back to throw one last look over her shoulder.

“A clean change of clothes is on the ledge nearest the tub… I won’t be far.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Clarke staring after her like an awestruck child in the presence of some legendary figure. Not willing to waste any more time, though – or let the water get cold – Clarke turned on her heels and made towards the bathroom mere moments afterwards, overjoyed to find a clean and spacious washroom now fully at her disposal.

As she peeled the clothes away from her grimy body, she tried not to think too hard about the way the Commander’s fingers had probably skimmed the surface of the water, checking to see if it was the proper temperature before calling Clarke in. She tried not to think about the girl busying herself with setting out anything and everything Clarke might need to take care of herself, the delicate care with which she probably folded the clean clothes now awaiting Clarke, the meticulousness with which she must’ve used to light the plethora of candles now warming Clarke’s bare skin…

She tried not to think of Lexa, or of anything at all.

 

\---

 

The sound of the wooden door to the bedroom opening and then clicking back shut roused Clarke from what’d been a trancelike sort of sleep, a kind of relaxation she’d never experienced before. She sat up in the tub a little, the still water gently lapping at her bare skin now scrubbed clean of blood and dirt, her hair loose and flowering around her shoulders like a lily pad.

“Clarke?” came the Commander’s voice from the other side of the wall marking the only barrier between washroom and bedroom. It was a tentative question, full of a kind of hesitance Clarke had never heard on the tongue of someone so inscrutable most of the time.

“Uh…yes, Commander?” Clarke called in response, self-consciously crossing her legs and arms over intimate places, the movements causing the water to swish more audibly around her.

There was silence for an elongated moment, Clarke’s heart pounding in her ears as she waited – as if Lexa might’ve been able to _feel_ what Clarke had been dreaming of only moments before...

“Are you…are you alright?” the Commander asked finally, her tone thick as though she’d had to work past a lump in her throat in order to speak. Clarke’s brows furrowed, confusion spreading across her features.

“…yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” Clarke returned slowly, warily. Another painful silence befell them before Lexa responded again.

“Well…it’s been over an hour and I just…” she trailed off, clearly struggling for an explanation that wouldn’t come. Clarke’s heart continued to thunder in every inch of her skin as she groaned at the length of time she’d unknowingly allowed to pass. “I figured you might want to be made aware of that.”  
The statement felt out of place in their current situation for whatever reason, but Clarke accepted it easily enough, nodding a little to herself as she hoisted her body up and out of the water without delay. Her fingers had pruned to near-leather, but she didn’t allow that to stop her from reaching for the salve and scraping a generous amount from the tin to begin tending to the many cuts and bruises she’d found while washing.

“I hope Anya left Wells alive while I was gone.”

The comment was supposed to be under her breath, but of course – _of course_ – she’d spoken just loud enough for the Commander to hear. She heard the swish of fabric and the shuffle of feet, as if the girl was adjusting uncomfortably beyond the partition.

_Yeah, yeah, yeah, great, good job_ _–_ _insult her general and give her even more of a reason to hate you after running a goddamn_ bath _for you. Just_ great _–_

“Anya can be… _abrasive,”_ the Commander allowed, speaking up after a while and surprising Clarke entirely with the level of thoughtfulness in her voice. “But, at the core of her, she cares more deeply than anyone I know about more people than most – Wells, included.”

The response caused Clarke to stop in place, her fingers hovering about a cut on her hip for a moment before she slowly moved to dip back into the salve, her gaze far-off now. The way the Commander spoke of her… It contained a level of genuineness, of obvious care, that Clarke would’ve never expected to hear from someone of such stature – especially in conversation to someone like _Clarke_.

“You know her well, then?” Clarke asked quietly, genuine curiosity lighting her voice as she continued tending to her wounds. More silence greeted her for long moments afterward as she did so, a different kind of weight settling between them the longer that words were left unspoken.

“She was my mentor before I became Commander,” Lexa finally said after a while, the words slow and very carefully chosen. “She is…like a sister to me still.”  
Clarke nodded slowly, completely unaware for a moment that Lexa couldn’t actually _see_ her response. She stepped up and over the lip of the tub and out onto the fur rug, bending to pick up the towel Lexa had set out for her.

“Do you have any siblings?” Lexa asked after a bit, finally breaking the silence left by Clarke’s lack of a verbal answer. Clarke paused in the middle of drying herself off, momentarily stunned by the question.

_Of all the places – of all the_ circumstances _– she could’ve asked me this question…_

“No,” Clarke answered quietly, a note of sadness detectable even to her own ears. “It’s not…common in our clan to have more than one child and, even if you do, there’s no guarantee that both your kids will make it to adulthood… I don’t think my parents wanted to risk that.”

She placed the towel down and reached for the clothes, lingering on the softness of the tunic fabric between her fingers before beginning to dress.

“What do you mean by ‘no guarantee’?” Lexa asked after a moment, genuine curiosity in a tone that was otherwise quite subdued. Clarke shrugged to herself, pulling the tunic over her head after securing her chest bindings into place.

“The climate’s harsh, food is scarce, and morale can get pretty low at times... Most people wouldn’t even trust a neighbor to watch their livestock for fear they’d steal it for themselves, so I guess just picture that on a much larger scale.” Clarke pulled the loose cloth pants up to her waist above her undergarments and tied them into place.

Looking around for a brush or something of that ilk, she spotted a small black comb on the vanity to her left. Barefoot and feeling more comfortable than she could remember as of late, Clarke walked over and picked it up, running it through her long hair with gentle strokes as she studied her reflection in the long mirror above the sink. A purple bruise was forming above her left cheekbone and her bottom lip was swollen with a dried cut from where Octavia had nicked her, but, all in all, the damage to her face wasn’t nearly as bad as Clarke had expected.

“Until someone comes along and offers us better, that’s probably how it’s going to be for the foreseeable future…” Clarke continued, as casually as if she were talking about the weather. “Speaking of which, don’t you have a major audience scheduled with Queen Nia for today?” Clarke racked her brains for the schedule from which she’d been excluded, struggling to remember what day it even was.

“You can come in, by the way – I’m dressed.”

A moment later, the Commander appeared in the reflection of the mirror, moving just inside the washroom only to lean back against the opening of the wall where a door should’ve been. She was watching Clarke with that same _odd_ look in her eyes, her jaw working as she appeared to be fighting some strong emotion threatening to make itself known.

“Your queen decided to postpone our scheduled meeting in favor of receiving an ambassador from Rockline, who apparently arrived in Polis late last night.” There was something in her response – something she wasn’t saying – that made Clarke stop, turning around to face the other girl with the comb still tucked into her hair.

“And that’s…a bad thing?” Clarke asked slowly, brows furrowing in confusion. Lexa sighed a little, revealing nothing more than that as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“It is neither good nor bad,” she stated simply, with finality, offering no more of an explanation than that as Clarke nodded slowly, accepting what she was given without question.

_Better not to press your luck anymore here, Griffin…_

She turned back to the mirror and continued to work through her hair, doing her best not to pay too much mind to the Commander still studying her in the reflection of the mirror. With each passing second, the candlelight was beginning to feel far too warm, the washroom too small, and Clarke started to feel a prickling at the back of her neck – one that told her to _get the hell out of there_ as quickly as possible, if only so that she could stop _burning up_.

There were so many questions lingering on the tip of her tongue, though, so many doors she wanted to unlock and quandaries she wanted to solve about this reticent Commander who’d taken over Clarke’s thoughts without permission. Questions like: who were her parents? Did she have any blood siblings other than Anya’s fond relation? What did she do with her time when she wasn’t busy Commander-ing? How did she and Costia meet –?  
_Costia…_

The name caused Clarke’s hand to stutter in its movements, a somberness taking root in her chest as she thought of the other girl – of what she meant to the Commander currently watching Clarke do something as menial as comb her hair. Hospitality aside, the thought of how the other girl might feel, how she might react should she know that Lexa had extended such a _courtesy_ to someone like Clarke….it was enough to hurry Clarke along, force her to haphazardly tie her hair into a bun and move to gather her strewn clothing without so much as meeting Lexa’s watchful eyes.

_She’s the Commander to you – nothing more, nothing less. You’ve earned no right to call her by any other name…_

With her clothes piled in her arms and her boots halfway on her feet, Clarke approached the Commander slowly, giving her a wide berth before inclining her head in a show of respect, all her usual nonchalance nowhere to be found now. The Commander’s brows furrowed just a fraction, a flash of confusion lighting her eyes at Clarke’s very sudden change of demeanor.

“Thank you for…all of this, Commander. Really,” Clarke gestured around her, tone soft and genuine as she spoke. “I’m gonna do my best to stay out of…well, _everything_ from here on out, so hopefully you won’t have to see my face again any time soon.”

Without another word, she quickly made her way past the Commander with clothes in-hand, doing her best not to read too far into the flash of what couldn’t possibly have been _hurt_ in the other girl’s eyes. Clarke made it all of ten steps outside of the guest room before she heard the Commander’s footsteps hurrying to catch up to her, though.

“Clarke, wait!” she called, the half-hearted command immediately stopping Clarke in her tracks as the other girl jogged up beside her. The Commander moved so that she was facing Clarke, abruptly blocking the girl’s path as her mouth fell open, words non-forthcoming.

The two of them just stood there in the middle of the hallway, the air seeming to close in tighter around them as it pushed and pulled at them both. Clarke waited, hoping for words to return to the Commander once more so that she could get away from the _burning_ , but nothing came.

The Commander just _stood_ there, eyes darting across every inch of Clarke’s face as if that might jog her memory as to why she’d stopped the girl in the first place, and Clarke was helpless to do anything more than stand there – feel the heat of flames licking her skin with scorching tongues…

“I –,”  
“ _Commander!!_ ” a shouted male voice interrupted the girl, the cry urgent, pained.

One of the tower guards came running up to the two of them, the Commander whirling on her heels to face the breathless man. “Come quickly!! _Fire_ , in the eastern quarter… _Azgeda.”_

 

And, just like that, Clarke found herself doomed to perish twice.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pretty much write every Clexa scene in this to "Awakening" by Rachel Portman from "The Duchess" or "Truth" by Ramin Djawadi from "GoT" in case you're looking for some mood music for those scenes lmao. 
> 
> Beyond that, Happy New Year everyone!! I hope you all had a fun and safe celebration or a relaxing night in - whichever floated your boat. School starts again for me literally tomorrow so that's super not exciting, but hey - c'est la vie.
> 
> Hope you're all doing well!! Until next time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap:  
> After winding up in a brawl with a rowdy bunch of Trikru warriors, Clarke is brought to the Commander yet again and surprised by the kindness of her reception - and the bath that followed. Much to Clarke's dismay, she found the Commander far too easy to speak to, and she found herself running away - only to be confronted by a messenger delivering breathless news of a fire set by Clarke's own people.

Had it not been for the harsh reality of what Clarke was looking at, she probably would’ve thought it to be the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

The yellows, oranges, and golds of the flames, the way their warmth blossomed into the sky like some sort of live creature declaring its power to all natural and manmade surroundings – it was as grand a thing as Clarke had ever seen, and she couldn’t help the stutter in her step as she approached the scene of the crime, staring like an awestruck child at some new shiny thing…

Regardless, whatever fascination she’d found in the depths of the fire was immediately erased by the screams of terror and shouts of despair as the residents of the warehouse-like building watched their home being engulfed in flames. A gathering crowd of both survivors and onlookers backed further and further away from the building as the destructive radius burned outward.

Clarke’s mouth hung agape as she stood rooted in place, her head darting this way and that as she watched Trikru soldiers scrambling about in the attempts to make sense of the chaos and get water on the fire. Upon seeing their Commander approach, though, a sigh of relief seemed to go up from every single person gathered around the building, each of them immediately receptive to every shouted order their leader began to rattle off as they waited to be made useful.

Clarke looked sideways at the Commander now standing a few feet in front of and to the left of her, firelight illuminating the determined set of her mouth that only thinly-veiled a kind of anger Clarke would never be able to understand. It was the kind that came from a place of genuine responsibility for the souls she was now watching lose everything they’d ever worked for – and, possibly, their lives – a depth of care Clarke didn’t think she’d ever be able to parallel shining through fury.

Clarke had trailed the Commander the entire way to the eastern quarter, the other girl having seemingly forgotten about her existence in the wake of the news that’d left them both breathless for starkly different reasons.

Clarke, for one, was caught up in something like denial, hoping with every fiber of her being that the reports weren’t true, that her cohorts hadn’t been stupid enough to make such a destructive statement to the potential detriment of so many lives. The Commander, on the other hand… On top of the grave blow to one of the residential hearts of the city she so loved and lived to watch over, the Commander was now having to watch any and all potential for an alliance quite literally go up in flames.

It was these things – and probably so much more that Clarke simply couldn’t see – that’d lead to the positively livid expression on the Commander’s face now, and Clarke didn’t want to admit how much of an effect the girl’s expression was having on the vital organ so violently pounding in her chest now.

“Clarke!!” A familiar male voice shouted, directing the girl’s attention in his direction as Wells came barreling through the crowd, running up to her with an expression on his face that was scraped raw to the bone.

She wrapped a hand around the space above his elbow in the attempt to steady him as he approached her, the warrior breathing hard as if he’d been sprinting around the whole of Polis since sundown.

“I don’t know…what happened… It just… fire was… _everywhere_ ,” Wells struggled through gasping breaths, leaning into Clarke’s hand for support as she felt her expression pinch with concern for him.

“You were…were you _in that building_ , Wells? What were you –?!”

“No, no, no – not there,” he cut her anxious rambling off quickly, shaking his head as he bent forward to place his hands on his knees for support. Clarke placed that same steadying hand between his shoulder blades as he continued to breathe heavily.

“Next door…at the market…picking up supplies…for tomorrow.”

His words had Clarke’s stomach dropping to the very base of her torso, her heart skipping a much-need beat as she immediately remembered their plans for tomorrow – plans that were now effectively ruined by this senseless act of war: a picnic, somewhere near the deep part of the creek where Wells would’ve help her learn how to catch a fish like a proper Trikru warrior. That was all _ruined_ now.

_That, and so much more…_

People were running every which way, the two warriors some of the only people standing totally still as everyone else seemed to form a single blur of nonstop motion around them. Clarke stood up on her tiptoes to glimpse the top of the Commander’s head as the girl shouted commands into the wind and pointed warriors in the direction of the flames, presumably ordering them to go on the offensive against the fire from multiple angles.

(If Clarke’s heart did a strange little turn-over in her chest at the sight of Lexa’s skin stretched so painfully tightly over her features, she wouldn’t dare acknowledge it.)

Everyone around her seemed to be checking for the vital pieces of themselves that were missing, desperately attempting to make sure that no member of their kin was missing or had been left behind. There were choruses of sobs and cries of elation as stragglers were either found and secured back into their proper place or lost permanently –

Out of nowhere, a blood-curdling scream lit up the night far more brutally than the fire, itself, causing both Clarke and Wells to go rigid as they searched wildly for the source of the sound through the chaos. No more than ten feet in front of Clarke, a woman was crying and screaming at the top of her lungs as she appeared to be struggling against the crowd she was currently being swept up in, her face and exposed limbs covered in soot and dirt as she gestured emphatically towards the fire. She looked absolutely _distraught_ as the people around her seemed far too caught up in everything else to listen to her cries, let her separate from them long enough to get someone’s attention.

“ _Please!!_ My child, _my baby_ –,”

 Clarke was moving forward before she even registered what she was doing, leaving Wells behind in his exhaustion as he called after her. She ran up to the woman, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder as the woman continued to scream.

“Where? _Where?”_ Clarke shook the woman a little, finally catching her attention as she spun and grabbed on to both of Clarke’s shoulders, her eyes going wide with desperation.

“Third floor, I-I – w-we got separated, I-I know she probably went back to our r-room... S-she’s alone, she’s _all alone_. _Please!!”_

It was the look on the woman’s face, that look of utter despair and near-oblivion, that had Clarke surging through the crowd without thinking, time slowing to a painful degree as she sprinted forward in a blind haze. The maelstrom around her quieted to a hum as Clarke felt her adrenaline spike, her feet carrying her faster and faster towards the flames as her heart seemed to awaken to a roar in her chest.

She barely registered the number of shoulders she barreled into and past as she closed in on the flames, ignoring the various pairs of hands that attempted to grab on to her or slow her pace the closer she got – one particularly strong pair only just losing their grip on her.

The last thing Clarke heard as she reached the open threshold of the burning building was the sound of her name screamed by a familiar voice, far too panicked to actually belong to the person she thought it did…

 

 

Smoke was everywhere – an all-encompassing, thick, and deadly haze that Clarke couldn’t help but choke on as she struggled to pull her tunic up over her nose and mouth. In all her hurry to get inside the building, she’d forgotten to take a good clean breath before she’d entered, and she now knew she was going to pay for it.

None of that mattered now, though, her focus narrowing in on the staircase less than ten feet away that seemed to lead straight up into the ceiling that was rapidly disappearing behind fire. Flames were licking up the walls and threatening the foundation of the stairs, and Clarke knew she would lose her window to act if she continued standing there like a deer at spear-point.

Securing her tunic tightly over her airways with one hand, Clarke sprinted to the stairs, taking them two at a time as the bottom few buckled beneath her weight. She leapt onto the second floor, crying out in pain as she lost her footing and stumbled a little too close to white-hot flames devouring the wall to her right. Her lungs burned as she took the recovering breaths necessary to get her back on stable footing, coughing violently against the impurities her lungs so viscerally wanted to reject.

A sound echoing that of how Clarke believed a massive tree probably sounded as it toppled to the ground in a dense forest shook the floor beneath Clarke’s feet as her heart swooped in her chest – a ceiling or floor succumbing to fire somewhere deep in the building, Clarke suspected. It sent another burst of adrenaline surging through her, spurring her on even more quickly as she rounded the staircase and ran up the next flight.

The air was almost unbearable as she reached the top of the staircase, a kind of heat Clarke had never been exposed to now sitting directly in front of her airways and pressing into her chest as she felt herself slowing down, felt her faculties being compromised. She stumbled blindly onto the third floor, her eyes watering and stinging sharply against all the smoke encompassing her.

She realized with a vague spike of panic that she hadn’t even asked the woman _where_ on the third floor her child was, or how, for that matter, they had even gotten separated in the first place – not that it would be too hard to fathom in all the chaos of a situation like this, though –

Suddenly, the doorway directly to her left collapsed in a heap of smoke and flames, the sound like a roaring tiger as Clarke was forced to pivot backwards, nearly brushing against a wall of fire as she coughed and tripped over her own feet. She couldn’t tell if the rushing sound in her ears was from the maelstrom around her or her own blood coursing through her veins, but it didn’t really matter now; all of it was making this poorly-thought-out attempt at a rescue mission impossible –

A keening cry – the wail of a child no more than five – sounded somewhere off ahead and to Clarke’s right, causing the blonde’s head to whip in the direction of the sound. Right as she did so, an exposed ceiling beam dropped into her pathway in a blaze of toxic air, leaving Clarke gasping and choking as she leapt over the object with far too clumsy a stride.

She was nearly crawling on the ground at this point, her strength diminishing by the second as adrenaline no longer shielded her from the fiery reality. Falling to her knees, Clarke dragged herself one-handed across the creaking floorboards, the wood almost buzzing with anticipation for its inevitable consumption by spark and flame.

Turning the corner, Clarke was almost elated to find a lone doorway down the hall, still relatively untouched by fire as Clarke hastened along, pushing herself back up onto her feet and stumbling. Her clumsy momentum was enough to send her shoulder slamming into the closed door, forcing it open with a loud slam and eliciting a yelp from the room’s apparent lone occupant.

Clarke’s eyes scanned the room wildly for a moment, chancing a deep breath that stung more than healed as her gaze locked on to a small child adjacent to the front door, an almost white-haired girl with wide saucer eyes framed by soot and tears. The little girl cowered further into the far corner, sobbing in terror as she tried to hide from Clarke.

Furrowing her brows at the odd reaction, Clarke moved forward, palms out in front of her as she approached.

“It’s okay, kid, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Clarke promised calmly over the growing cacophony of flames she knew was closing in on them. “Your mom sent me – my name’s Clarke, and I just wanna help.”

At the mention of her mother, the child seemed to perk up, entirely ready to believe this stranger before her on the wisp of a pipedream. She pushed back from the corner slightly, sniffling a little as she appraised Clarke curiously.

The change in body language was all Clarke needed to hasten her approach, reaching her arms out to scoop the girl into them as the child allowed herself to be lifted. Securing the girl’s legs and arms around her frame before ensuring that she had fabric over her airways, Clarke spun on her heels toward the door, foolishly getting her hopes far too high for what she had to have known was coming.

As she should’ve guessed, the moment they got to the doorway, Clarke and the child were met with a raging wall of fire, the flames seeming to burst out from every angle as Clarke stumbled back, placing a placating hand on the back of the child’s head as she wailed in fear at the sight of it.

Back-tracking wildly, Clarke spun every which way, looking for an out that didn’t involve separating all of her flesh from bone. For the first time since she’d stepped over the threshold, Clarke noticed a small window on the back wall of the room, the opening just large enough for one person to fit through at a time.

Nodding her head in acceptance of whatever fate may follow, Clarke ran over to the window, gasping on toxic breaths as a final dose of adrenaline seemed to surge through her. Wasting no time, Clarke lifted her leg and kicked with everything she had, loosing a cry of desperation as the child in her arms continued to sob.

The weakened window frame buckled beneath her force almost immediately, giving way to a blast of fresh air that nearly drew tears from Clarke’s eyes as she choked on it through elated airways. Throwing one fleeting glance over her shoulder, Clarke eyed the flames closing in on them just long enough to cement the final plan in her mind’s eye.

“Climb onto my back!” she commanded the child, relieved when the girl immediately moved to action and koala crawled around her frame.

As soon as the girl was securely in place with her arms wrapped tightly around Clarke’s neck, she heaved herself up and over the window sill, doing her best to avoid stray pieces of glass as she grunted with the effort to keep herself steady. She swung her legs around in mid-air, engaging her core muscles so that her thighs fell back against the outer wall of the building at a reasonable pace.

Then, slowly but surely, Clarke began to lower herself along the wall, using as much resistance from the soles of her boots against the grainy concrete to slow her pace as the little girl clung to her back, sobs having quieted to a whimper. Soon enough, Clarke found herself completely stretched out along the wall, hanging by her two hands as both the wall and window sill she was depending on continued to heat to a near-excruciating degree.

Making the huge mistake of chancing a glance down at the ground, Clarke nearly whimpered, herself, when she saw just how far she still had to go. It was at least the height of three fully-grown men stacked on top of one another, and Clarke really didn’t like heights. Plus, she knew that if she dropped from where she was now, she would either break both of her legs landing straight up, or fall onto her back and crush the child she was trying to save.

For the first time since Clarke had entered the burning building, her still-injured hands suddenly made themselves known as she continued to hang from the sill, sending sharp pains shooting up her arms as she cried out against them.

 _Not now_.

She looked down towards the ground again in desperation, seriously considering having her legs take one for the team when she noticed a window sill on the second floor directly below the one she was currently hanging off of. Clarke swung her legs a little bit, trying to get herself at a better angle from which she could gauge her vantage-point, and was immediately stopped short by a burst of flames from inside the room she was clinging on to.

Shouting in surprise, Clarke lost her grip of the sill and plummeted downwards, her adrenaline taking over as she pressed herself as close to the outer wall as she could manage in free-fall.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, Clarke’s hands and the toes of her boots scraping against the concrete as the little girl sobbed in her ear. All she had to do was hit the sill with the right part of her hands –

_Got it!!_

Miraculously, ridiculously, Clarke’s hands connected with the second-floor window’s sill and held on for dear life, her palms positively _screaming_ as yet another overheated piece of metal dug into the cloth bandages there. Her front smacked roughly into the concrete with the abrupt halting of her momentum, Clarke grunting with all manner of discomfort as the child’s grip on her became a chokehold. Her hands – and neck – couldn’t take this much longer…

An idea hit her out of nowhere, causing her to readjust her grip on the window in anticipation.

“Okay, kid, I know you’re scared – I am, too – but I need you to listen to me right now, okay?” She felt the child nod immediately into her hair. “You’re gonna use me as something of a human rope – you ever seen a rope before, kid?” A shake of the head, a sniffle. “Okay, okay, that’s alright, it’s okay… Basically, what I want you to do is climb down my body so that you’re hanging from my feet, okay? Then, I’m gonna swing you out so that you have enough room to jump down. Can you do that for me, kid?”  
The child was still for a moment, and Clarke could feel her looking down at the ground as though weighing her options. Clarke was in _agony_. 

“When you jump, protect your head as best you can, elbows in, and tuck your knees into your chest – that way, something absorbs the landing other than your face. Got it?” Clarke didn’t know if any of that was sound advice, but she figured she had to say _something_ to convince the kid that she was more of a knowledgeable authority figure than she actually was.

She couldn’t hold on much longer –

Suddenly, the little girl started moving, stunning Clarke into stillness as she carefully inched down the warrior’s frame, forcing Clarke to lock her legs together as the girl worked her way down. Before she knew it, Clarke had a child hanging from her feet and a fire blazing directly above her head, and she needed to _move_.

“That was great, kid!!” Clarke exclaimed with far too much jubilance, a desperate smile cracking her features. “I’m gonna swing now, okay? Wait till I get you as far away from the fire as possible and then let go! Remember – tuck those knees!!”

The next moment, Clarke started swinging.

She grunted with the effort, engaging her core as she swung her legs forwards and backwards, gaining momentum with every swing. After four swings, she could feel the child’s grip on her boots change, tensing. Clarke swung inward, sucking in breath to spur her outward movement on the exhale –

“ _Now!!”_

The weight left her legs as the girl let go, shrieking loudly as she did so. Clarke craned her neck to watch the child fall, brows furrowing as she watched the girl curl into a ball and hit the grass _hard_ on her side. The child’s legs sprang from her as she landed, a chorus of coughs going up into the cloudy air as she sprawled on the ground, breathing heavily.

“You okay, kid? _Kid?!”_

The little girl nodded immediately, looking up at Clarke with her eyes widening as she scurried backwards on the grass, putting space between herself and the fire. Clarke sighed with relief, hanging her head and closing her eyes for a moment as she breathed through her spike in panic –

_BANG!!_

Something like the sound of a hundred falling trees hitting the ground smacked Clarke directly in the face – the last warning she got before time stopped altogether, the air seeming to still for the briefest of half-seconds before something like the force of a train hit her, blowing her backwards.

The next thing Clarke knew, she was flying.

 

Everything went black.

 

 

Flames closing in on the atmosphere. Giant’s feet stomping on the ground.

Muffled choirs. Drowning.

_“-arke!! Clarke!!”_

A pair of frantic green eyes hovering far too close. _Why so distraught?_

Hands on her face, in her hair.

 

Blackness.

 

\---

 

Coughing.

She was coughing. Barely conscious, but coughing.

_Go figure._

“Breathe, Clarke, breathe – it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Wells. That was Wells’s voice – that much Clarke knew.

Her eyelids fluttered open unwarranted as she continued to cough, the soft glow of candlelight surprising her as her mind struggled to keep pace with her body. She flexed her toes and attempted to wiggle her fingers, groaning through her coughs as the motion sent electric bursts of pain up the entire length of her arms.

Clarke forced her eyes to remain open, turning her head a little to the side on what she believed to be a pillow as she heard the telltale sound of a door opening, fast footsteps retreating over stone like the sound of someone running away. She blinked again as Wells came into view on her right, the warrior’s expression looking drawn and anxious as he gazed down at her.

“What…was that?” she rasped through more wracking coughs, slightly startled as she felt a metallic mug being pressed to her lips. She complied on instinct, opening her mouth and letting cool water soothe all the right places in her throat as it went down.

“One of the Commander’s guards... Don’t worry about that right now, though – just breathe.” Clarke closed her eyes, refusing to let the mug leave her lips as she continued to relish in its calming contents, only just now realizing how utterly and completely on _fire_ her chest actually was.

It was the strangest – and, arguably, most painful – thing she’d ever felt, almost as if someone had taken a torch to the inside of her chest cavity and left her to wallow in the scorch left behind.

“You took in a hell of a lot of smoke, and your hands are burnt pretty badly,” Wells continued solemnly, still looking down at her with that troubling expression that made her want to sink deeper into the mattress. “Our healers had to try some… _unconventional_ methods to keep you alive…”  
Clarke narrowed her eyes at him over the lip of the mug, her chest rattling with what was left of a wheezing cough as she finally quieted, silently demanding that he explain why she felt like she should’ve been dead three times over. Not to mention, it felt like some massive rock was sitting _directly_ on her breastbone, keeping her flat on the mattress.

“I wasn’t allowed to be in here when they did what they did – no one was – but I heard it was pretty…different.”

 _Well, that explains absolutely_ nothing _. Thanks, bud._

Clarke wished she could reach up and smack him upside the head for being so goddamn _cryptic_ , but she thought it’d be better if she just…. didn’t move. Like, at all, ever again.

“Where am I?” she opted instead, barely getting the words out in a strained whisper as her throat and lungs burned with threats of another coughing fit.

Wells’s lips pressed into a hard line, his thumb and forefinger coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as a wave of exhaustion appeared to overtake him.

“Basement infirmary of the tower… It was the first place the Commander could think to take you that was a bit more…. _discreet_ , I think.” Clarke furrowed her brows, confused over just about every single word in that sentence.

_There’s a basement? And what the hell does he mean by ‘discreet’?_

At the confused look on her face as she gazed back at him, Wells sighed, moving to sit as gently as he could on the edge of the bed. He scanned Clarke’s face with unhidden concern still lingering in his features.

“She didn’t think –,” Wells cut himself off with a swallow, a hardened and implacable expression on his face. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, staring down at his hands as if he didn’t know how he was going to finish his thought.

“The Commander didn’t think you would’ve stood as good of a chance if she’d taken you back to your queen… She thought…well, she thought that Nia would’ve just let you die.”

Wells looked as if the words had physically pained him to say – as if it were some life-altering confession that could never be taken back – and Clarke was confused.

 _Of course_ Nia would’ve let her die – that would’ve been exactly what Clarke expected her to do. Clarke was nobody, barely more than a liability that had already earned herself a death sentence in less than a year’s time; why would Nia waste her breath, or any semblance of effort, for that matter? It would’ve made perfect sense to just leave Clarke dead in the grass somewhere, be done with it – with _Clarke_.

“Well, _duh,”_ Clarke managed to whisper between wheezes, shifting as much as her body would allow so that she could be turned more fully towards him. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. Would you?”

Wells looked positively _baffled_ , his mouth dropping open as he struggled to form words properly. Clarke waited patiently, shrugging as best she could as he gawked at her.

“Well… _y-yeah!_ _Hell yes_ I would!!” Wells nearly shouted at her, hackles immediately rising as he slapped his hands against his thighs in a show of exasperation. Clarke raised a mildly curious brow, unbothered. “If I’d just nearly lost my _life_ saving a child from a burning building, I’d _absolutely_ expect something more. In fact, I know with absolute _certainty_ that the Commander would honor me in some way –,”

Clarke guffawed loudly at this, cutting him off with the force of her laughter as she coughed through it. It’s just – that was the most ridiculous thing anyone had ever said to her, and Clarke had heard a lot of really _stupid_ shit.

_They really do things differently in this literal and metaphorical neck of the woods, don’t they?_

“ _Honor_ …you?” she coughed through continued laughter, shaking her head incredulously. “No way – no _fucking_ way… No way in hell.” She was almost light-headed at this point with how much her laughter was sapping her strength, but Clarke didn’t care – this was really just _too_ good.

Wells was gaping at her now with a growing shadow of sadness darkening his features, and it was enough to cause her laughter to hiccup, her smile to falter as she tried to steady herself once more.

“I ran into a burning building….to save a Trikru kid…from a fire that _my_ people started,” Clarke spoke slowly, emphasizing every word for what it was as she attempted to get her breathing in check. “For all Queen Nia knows, I might as well be a full-blown _traitor_ at this point. Heaven knows I’ve already gotten on her bad side during this trip – well, I suppose you’d have to call it her _worse_ side, wouldn’t you? ‘Cause literally every side she has is positively _dreadful_ –,”

Clarke cut herself off with another fit of coughs, and Wells immediately moved to raise the water mug to her lips without a word, his expression far too tragic for Clarke to pay much mind to. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing as deeply as she could in her limited capacity before she spoke in a whisper once more.

“It was only _one_ kid – one kid out of probably many more who died before I got there – but that one was enough… _Honor_ is the _last_ thing that awaits me. My clan knows no such thing.”

At this, she opened her eyes to find Wells staring at her through surprisingly glossy vision, his expression positively tragic as he looked down at his lap, sniffling once. Clarke’s heart throbbed at the sound.

“That _one kid_ now gets to live another day because of you – that _one mother_ doesn’t have to live the rest of her life in utter devastation and loss… To me, that has to be worth _something.”_

For some reason, tears were pooling in Clarke’s eyes, and she really didn’t know why. It _couldn’t_ have been the passion in his voice, the pure fervor of every syllable he spoke – the conviction of _knowing_ that Clarke was _worth something_ …

“And I _refuse_ to accept that that something was just a tube shoved down your throat to keep you breathing.” At this, Clarke’s brows went sky-high, her lips pursing in a _what-did-you-just-say-to-me_ kind of way.

Wells looked up after a moment in the wake of Clarke’s silence, taking in the comical amount of confusion on her face as he swiped a hand down his features with a sigh.

“I don’t…know that much about it,” he admitted after another moment, meeting her gaze with near-apologetic eyes intermingling with the sadness still lingering there. “All I know is that they stuck a tube that was connected to _that thing_ –,” he pointed to an ancient-looking metal beast on a wooden table directly to Clarke’s left, “ – down your throat to keep you breathing through all that smoke in your lungs… Don’t ask me how or why, ‘cause that’s really all the information I’ve got.”

Clarke stared at the machine in utter bewilderment, her mind drawing a complete blank as she ogled the various parts that added up to a whole of something she couldn’t even _begin_ to contemplate –

Her train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the sound of multiple pairs of hurried footsteps echoing on the stone in the outside hallway, the clacking incredibly muffled through the door to the infirmary that Clarke couldn’t remember being closed before. Wells abruptly stood up at the sound, straightening his posture to perfection for whatever reason as Clarke narrowed her eyes up at him.

The next moment, though, all her questions were answered as the door swung open to reveal none other than the Commander, herself, flanked by a messenger and two tower guards.

Clarke tried to stifle her groan as the Commander strode in, all midnight colors and hard lines matching the paint on her cheeks. Her expression was positively unreadable, her eyes appearing to blaze with the light of a thousand torches despite the dim candlelight in the room.

Clarke had never seen the girl looking so utterly inscrutable.

“Leave us.”

The words were clipped, harsh, and all the men surrounding her immediately did as they were told.

Wells only lingered for the briefest of moments as he looked down at Clarke, his lips straightening into a grim press as he sighed. The next moment, though, he was making his way from the room, pausing to incline his head in respect to his leader.

And then, they were alone.

Clarke could only stare at the Commander, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated as the girl remained in the shadows by the door, revealing nothing. A palpable thickness seemed to settle in the air between them as they continued to stare at each other, neither moving as concession alluded the both of them. It was almost like a pocket of captured storm clouds, growing and crackling dangerously with every passing second as it threatened to push right into Clarke’s belabored chest...

If it were possible, the Commander’s eyes only seemed to grow _more_ inflamed the longer she looked at Clarke, some fierce vehemence of no name refusing to quiet within her gaze. Clarke could almost see a resemblance to the burning building.

“You should’ve saved yourself the trouble and let me die,” Clarke breathed into the silence, her words getting slightly gnarled by the thickness.

At this, the Commander’s brows visibly furrowed, her skin tightening over sharp features as she moved forward into the room, seemingly driven by her befuddlement at Clarke’s words. She walked until she stood where Wells had just been, towering over Clarke as befuddlement became palpable outrage.

“That is an _odd_ way to express gratitude, warrior,” the Commander spat, punctuating each word with barely-contained fury as the flames in her eyes grew untamed. The omittance of a personal address did not go unnoticed.

“Sure, yeah, _thanks_ , I guess,” Clarke retorted bitterly, meeting the Commander’s wild gaze with a growing level of anger all her own. “Save the traitor you feel guilty about _shafting_ not too long ago so that you could go beat the dead horse of hope for an alliance that was already rotting to the bone – _big thanks_.”

The Commander visibly paled at Clarke’s words, her lips parting to suck in a breath as she shifted back a step, utterly _wounded_. Before Clarke even had time to process the pang in her heart that hit her at the sight of the Commander’s reaction, though, it was gone, all evidence that Clarke had gotten to her wiped from her face and replaced with a detached sort of disdain.

“Because of _you_ , I had to decide between saving a _miscreant_ from a rogue clan as a debt to one of my people, or letting that miscreant _die_ and run the risk of being accused of murder by neglect… I did not _save you_ for the sake of keeping you alive – I have no reason to care whether you live or die. I did so to fulfill the lesser of two evils in the hopes of creating a future you couldn’t _possibly_ understand.”

The acidity laced in every word, the show of the Commander’s teeth as she bit those words out…

Clarke believed the fire had probably scorched her less.

She didn’t understand where this white-hot resentment between the two of them was coming from. It’d been banked in that thick cloud that’d fallen over the room the minute the Commander had walked in, and now it was surging all around them, lashing out and sweeping them up in its uncontrollable tide…

Clarke didn’t understand it, but she sure as hell had no problem giving in to it.

“Oh, and what exactly is it that I don’t _understand_ about this so-called _future_ of yours, huh? This _delusion_ you have that somehow _you_ will be the person to finally end all suffering, to abruptly change a culture that has been cementing for decades just because you think it’s more _savage_ than yours?!”

It was there in the Commander’s eyes again, that devastatingly _wounded_ look, and Clarke opted to simply ignore it as her voice grew louder, her fury more brazen.

“And, while you’re at it, help me add this one up: why come to my tent and nurse my wounds in the dead of night if you don’t care whether I live or die? Why assign me one of the goddamn _friendliest_ guards you have at your disposal who does more _planning of picnics_ than keeping me out of trouble?! And why, for the love of god, draw me a _bath_ if you don’t –?”

Her scornful tirade was cut short by a wracking fit of coughs that had her keeling into the mattress, sputtering and choking on a limited oxygen supply as her eyes watered with the effort. Almost immediately, Clarke felt a hand lace into the hair on the back of her head, painfully gentle as it guided her to the lip of the mug that was being held up for her. Unconsciously, Clarke reached out with one of her bandaged hands, ignoring the sharp pains that accompanied every movement as she grabbed onto the Commander’s long coat in a fit of desperation.

Lexa met Clarke’s gaze with a depth of concern that made Clarke’s chest ache for a very different reason as she continued to cough, the girl’s lips a thin line below a crease between her brows – the very _picture_ of worry.

_Doesn’t care, my ass…_

One particularly difficult intake of breath had Clarke squeezing her eyes shut in momentary panic, fearing for her own life as her heart thudded sporadically in her chest. Lexa’s hand remained steadfast in her hair, the only thing keeping Clarke from succumbing to her panic as she struggled to regain control of her breathing.

Seconds turned to minutes before Clarke finally got ahold of herself, delicate breaths rattling out of raw lungs as she sunk back into her pillow with her eyes closed, exhausted. She didn’t register the hand still cradling her head for a good while after she’d settled back down.

Clarke opened her eyes, peering up at the Commander who was hovering far closer to her than she realized, the girl now sitting in the chair Wells had pulled up. There was something different burning in her eyes now, something Clarke couldn’t quite place – had never seen before in the eyes of someone who’d looked at her – and Clarke simply stared right back at the girl, mesmerized by everything she saw there.

After another moment, though, the Commander seemed to come back to herself, gingerly removing her hand from beneath Clarke’s head while still holding the mug in her other hand. It was only when the Commander somewhat awkwardly cleared her throat that Clarke realized her own hand was still knotted into the Commander’s long coat. She removed it immediately, wincing at the sudden movement as she tried to sink further into the mattress and hide the blush splashing her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispered after another moment, looking sincerely into Lexa’s eyes as the other girl met her gaze intently. “I didn’t mean… I apologize for disrespecting you, Commander – I was way out of bounds.... You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

The Commander was already shaking her head before Clarke could even finish her sentence, lips pursing thoughtfully for a moment as she continued to stare directly into Clarke’s eyes with a much gentler fire burning now.

“ _I_ am sorry, Clarke – I do not know why I said such things,” the Commander responded quietly as she looked at the wall beyond Clarke’s head, tone implacable. “I _do_ care about –,”

She cut herself off very suddenly, clearing her throat and looking rather dazed – as if she’d just confessed something not of her own accord. Her brows furrowed as she stared even more intently at the wall behind Clarke, now pointedly avoiding her gaze with tensed shoulders.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Commander – you were right,” Clarke spoke up again, shifting the subject slightly – and much to the Commander’s apparent relief. “It’s my own fault for running in there… How bad are things now, anyway?”

She knew that the Commander would pick up on what she was referring to, watching the girl shift somewhat uncomfortably and visibly straighten, a shadow crossing her gaze. She looked back down at Clarke with that same unreadable expression back in place, every bit as stoic as Clarke had ever seen her.

“Your queen insists that she had nothing to do with the orchestration of the fire, and she has already made a show of executing one of her closest guards – the one she claims is responsible.” Clarke furrowed her brows at this, shuffling through the names and faces of her clan’s present caravan until she gathered a possible group together, none of whom she was particularly close to.

“You don’t believe her,” Clarke stated rather plainly after a moment, picking up on something in the Commander’s tone that she was sure from the look on the girl’s face she wasn’t supposed to detect.

“Why would you –?”

“No, no, don’t worry – I’m not accusing you of anything,” Clarke cut the girl off, immediately sensing the need to quell the Commander’s defenses before things had a chance to get heated again. “I wouldn’t either if I were you.”

At this, the Commander’s eyes seemed to bore straight into Clarke’s soul, searching, probing… Clarke couldn’t meet the girl’s gaze for some reason, choosing instead to look at the door in exaggerated contemplation.

“What is that supposed to mean?” the Commander asked quietly, clear authority present in her tone now as the air in the room seemed to shift yet again.

Clarke closed her eyes, mentally kicking herself for being such a traitorous wretch on a constant basis. She stayed silent for what felt like hours more, refusing to acquiesce as she kept her eyes shut, afraid of the power that Lexa might have over her if she dared open them…

The moment her skin started to itch with the weight of Lexa’s stare searing right into her, Clarke knew she had to say _something_.

“You know what I mean,” she finally allowed, her voice barely more than the whisper of a breath as she finally opened her eyes to meet the Commander’s gaze.

Lexa stared at her with such an intensity in those jade green eyes that Clarke very nearly flinched, but she forced herself to remain unyielding, meeting the gaze with calmness instead.

After what felt like another couple of hours spent in tense and unmoving silence, the Commander surprised Clarke by abruptly standing, nodding once down at Clarke as she moved to place the mug on the seat of the chair, just within Clarke’s reach. Clarke tried not to let her bafflement at the girl’s sudden movements show on her face as she watched the Commander walk towards the door.

(She pointedly ignored the pang in her chest at the sight of Lexa walking away from her, passing it off as another aftershock from her coughing fit.)

The Commander paused at the door, her hand gripping the handle as she fixed a glance over her shoulder, features shrouded in shadow.

“I do.” Clarke watched as the girl stood there for a few moments, silently warring with herself as her expression alluded Clarke’s gaze – every bit the cloudy enigma Clarke believed her to be.

Then, without preamble:

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

With that, the Commander was opening the door and retreating from sight, leaving a dumbfounded Clarke to stare helplessly in her wake.

 

\---

 

After two days in the tower basement, Clarke was starting to get antsy.

The only reason she knew it’d been two days was because Wells told her as much, answering the anxious questions she’d rattle off at him the second he’d walk through the door at random times throughout the day. He came every few hours, insisting that he give her some privacy and time to rest instead of being by her side at all times, and she almost found herself wishing that he would stay.

Truth be told, Wells was a fabulous companion – funny, kind, easy to talk to, and ridiculously smart – and Clarke very quickly decided that he was the closest thing to a friend she’d ever had. He would bring her food throughout the day, refill her water cup and pour her mugs of hot mint tea, and apply a healing salve to the raw skin of her hands twice a day before re-bandaging them both.

Costia was another pleasant surprise, the girl having visited Clarke a couple times with sweet treats from the tower’s main kitchen or a book from the library, taking time out of her day to read to Clarke for a while as Clarke’s eyelids would flutter against sleep.

The Commander, though…

Clarke had only seen the girl once since their initial encounter, her visit in the form of an official check-up from Nyko, the tower healer who’d apparently come to her rescue the first time. Despite the permanent scowl on his face, he checked her over with surprisingly gentle movements, mumbling quiet remarks to the Commander who’d very pointedly avoided Clarke’s gaze throughout the entirety of the visit in favor of looking attentively at whatever Nyko was doing.

Clarke tried not to let the gruffness of it all affect her too much, knowing the Commander’s discretion was centered around the fact that Clarke’s presence in the tower was, to their knowledge, a well-kept secret – at least, for the time-being. For all her clan knew – or, for all Clarke hoped they knew – she was messing around somewhere in the city, neither causing trouble nor avoiding it, as per usual.

It was a nice little vacation from reality, but Clarke could feel life’s greedy fingers tugging at her skin with more insistence the longer she stayed in bed, completely helpless without her weapons that apparently remained in Wells’s care at present.

She knew this couldn’t go on forever; the question was, for how much longer?  


 

 

In the dead of the second night, Clarke got her answer…

She knew something was wrong at the sound of wet choking just outside of the door to the infirmary – the telltale sound of someone choking on their own blood as the result of a blade being drawn across their throat.

Clarke sat up rod-straight in bed, gulping rather audibly as another muffled cry preluded a loud thump against her door. The next moment, the infirmary door was thrown open, crashing into the wall as a hooded figure stepped over the two slain bodies of the guards that’d been assigned to the door. _  
_ Clarke barely had time to think before the person was on her, gripping her by the throat with one hand as the other reached up to remove the hood, revealing none other than Ontari glaring murderously down at her. A wave of panic rolled over every one of Clarke’s senses, having the wherewithal not to fight back as she knew it would only add to whatever torturous sentence she was about to endure.

“Filthy _traitor_ ,” Ontari spat, yanking Clarke by the throat until she tumbled off of the mattress and slammed onto the floor. Her grip only seemed to tighten as Clarke sputtered, forced to allow herself to be manhandled as Ontari dragged her roughly by the neck across the cold stone floor.

 

_Here we go again…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke just can't seem to keep out of trouble in any reality, can she?
> 
> Also, "resentment," amiright? 
> 
> lmao I hope y'all are doing well! apologies on the wait - school is kicking my ass, as per usual.
> 
> Excited to hear your thoughts on this one (apologies if it's not as long as you might've been hoping - I plan on making up for that in the next chapter).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap:  
> After running head-first into a raging warehouse fire to save a Trikru child, Clarke was whisked away to the hidden infirmary of Polis tower to be treated for life-threatening wounds. Upon waking, Clarke once again found herself in an intense confrontation with the Commander whose motivations continue to allude her at every turn. Still, Clarke allowed herself to be looked after for the time-being, growing more and more attached to the ever-present Trikru people around her.  
> Suddenly, though, Clarke is awakened and ripped out of her bed in the dead of night by none other than Ontari, a cruel promise of punishment - and possibly death - awaiting her...

Getting dragged through the streets of Polis by the throat in the dead of night was just about the _worst_ thing Clarke could’ve pictured for herself at this particular moment in life…

It was humiliation personified, and the fact that she couldn’t fight back or even resist in any capacity – what with her lack of weapons and numerous injuries – only made it worse.

That being the case, Clarke was forced to endure all manner of discomfort and pain as Ontari pulled her along through the streets, making sure to drag Clarke’s body over jagged rocks and debris to get her all nice and scraped up. Regardless, she barely made more than a sound as she allowed herself to be abused, doing her best to protect her face whenever necessary as Ontari insisted on kicking up rocks and dirt into Clarke’s eyes.

Fighting every instinct she’d ever been taught, Clarke remained silent and limp, lips pressed into a hard line as Ontari dragged her to whatever miserable fate was in store for her...

The further they got from the tower, though, the more Clarke realized that she had no idea where she was being taken. Ontari had taken her out of some back entrance Clarke had never seen before, pulling her into and around a number of dead guards the warrior had presumably killed on her way into the tower.

After they’d gotten out into the stillness of the city night, though, Clarke was immediately lost, helpless to no more than glance around her as Ontari weaved them along a number of side-streets and back-alleys just outside of the purview of the various Trikru guards patrolling the streets. The few random passerby who happened to glimpse the two Azgeda warriors making such a strange show of themselves immediately moved away, averting their eyes and pretending not to see the hapless blonde girl in a ratty night tunic being dragged by the neck at the hands of a fearsome looking soldier in full uniform.

_Nothing to see here, right?_

Eventually, the awkwardness of the angle Ontari had Clarke at forced the warrior to re-adjust her grip, relieving Clarke’s airways somewhat as she hauled the girl to her feet and grabbed hold of the tunic’s collar, pulling Clarke along like a dejected child en route to punishment – which, in reality, was pretty spot-on. Clarke sputtered and coughed as Ontari forced her to a near-jog, sucking air into damaged lungs through constricted passageways as her heart thundered in her chest. Clarke didn’t dare look down at her hands, too numb from adrenaline to alert her conscious mind to the fact that they should’ve been throbbing by now.

_If I’m lucky, maybe Nia will save me the trouble and kill me before she unleashes Ontari onto my burns… Wouldn’t_ that _be a nice change of pace._

Before long, Ontari was pushing Clarke through a child-sized hole in the wall, quite literally kicking her in the ass when Clarke didn’t shimmy through the space as quickly as Ontari wanted her too. Clarke grunted as she was forced onto her knees only halfway out of the hole, trying not to let the tears bubble as she crawled over the dirt on her hands and knees. Again, she found herself grateful for the numbness dulling most of her senses, taking over from where the excruciating pain in her hands would probably be had she had her wits about her…

Ontari was through the wall and forcing Clarke up by the scruff of her neck before Clarke even had a chance to take a deep breath, oxygen hitching in her airways as she was forced to stumble along rather blindly through a smattering of trees and forest debris. The moon was their only guiding light now, the glow of the city to their backs as Ontari pulled Clarke toward a vaguely familiar sound – familiar, and the very last thing Clarke was expecting…

Water.

Gently flowing, calming – nature’s juxtaposition. Ontari was dragging Clarke to the creek, a place that was wholly foreign to her as she’d only seen it that one time on the opposite side of the city. A location only _just_ remote enough so as to muffle the screams of a dying girl…

_Oh, fuck… She’s going to_ drown  _me –_

_THWACK_

Clarke went tumbling forward as she took some massive blow to the back of her head, the force of it sending her toppling head over feet down a small incline until she flattened out on what felt like a bunch of pebbles – the creek bed, presumably. Sprawled on her back, Clarke looked up to see both literal and metaphorical stars as her head swam with a sloshy thickness like red wine, a haze that diluted her consciousness in blurring spots.

The next moment, Ontari was crouching over her head, looking down at Clarke with a malicious grin splitting her features as she forced Clarke up by the collar once more – this time only just enough to lift her head off the ground. Clarke’s stomach rolled over in panic as her head lulled helplessly back towards the pebbles, her limbs too liquid-like to be useful.

“She doesn’t know – or, maybe she does, but she doesn’t care,” Ontari mused, her tone almost nonchalant. “You’re nothing to her, really, just another _mindless shit_ she has to account for – a mindless shit who keeps wandering over to lick the bottom of the Commander’s _boots_ every chance she gets _.”_

_What the hell –?_

Ontari’s fist connected with Clarke’s cheekbone, whipping her head to the side as Clarke’s brain seemed to slam into one side of her skull before rolling back to center – an instant migraine. Clarke’s eyelids fluttered as her head lulled back down to the center of gravity, her heart beating in every inch of her skull.

She could barely hear Ontari’s next words over the whooshing sound of her own blood screaming in her ears – not that she would’ve been able to process them, regardless.

“I’m doing you a favor, you know – better for you to die at the hands of one of your own than at the blade of some Trikru _scum_ a year from now, hm?”

That was the only warning Clarke got before Ontari dropped her gracelessly back onto the ground, her boot coming down to stomp on Clarke’s abdomen with brute force. Clarke immediately curled up into a ball, coughing and sputtering as all of her limited supply of oxygen was quite literally forced from her lungs.

Slowly, agonizingly, Clarke turned over onto her side in the opposite direction of Ontari, fruitlessly attempting to create space between them as she waited for the next blow. Sure enough, mere seconds later, she felt another harsh kick to the small of her back, the brunt of it resounding in her hips as she went flailing onto her stomach, utterly doomed...

Ontari was forcing her onto her back and digging a knee into Clarke’s chest before the girl even had time to process the last hit, her entire body vibrating with the sensation of one on the brink of death. The warrior looked down at her with that same smug grin, cracking her knuckles needlessly as she spoke.

“This is for embarrassing me you _bitch.”_

_She still won’t let that one go, will she?  
_ The next moment, all Clarke saw was fists – raining down, relentless, merciless… Slamming into her jaw, catching parts of her skull, her ears, her chin. Clarke was losing count…

Mind-numbing  _agony_.

(Oddly enough, Clarke could draw parallels between how she was going to die and how both of her parents were murdered – brutalized at the hands of one of their own for a perceived grievance that would’ve warranted a slap on the wrist in any other semi-normal circumstance.)

_What a way to go after everything –_

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” A familiar voice shouted, cutting through the night air with tangible fury as Ontari’s assault was abruptly halted.

Clarke groaned, unable to do anything more than shut her eyes and hope for a savior as Ontari seemed to bristle even more pointedly above her.

_I know that voice… How do I know that voice?_

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Ontari spoke up after what seemed like quite a delay, her tone surprisingly flat yet containing an edge Clarke couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah, well, neither are you from what I’m seeing,” the female voice spat back, her tone growing more inflamed with every word. Clarke felt more than saw Ontari shift above her, the warrior moving to better confront the other woman.

Clarke could barely process any of the words she was hearing, let alone move to respond or defend herself in any way.

“Might I ask _why_ you’re attacking one of our own in the middle of the woods at an ungodly hour of the night?” the woman pressed, her voice seemingly closer now. Ontari couldn’t seem to stop her restless shifting.

“How the hell did you find us?” the warrior shot back instead, harsh and unrelenting.

“It couldn’t have had anything to do with the way you dragged the girl through the open streets of the city, now, could it? _Answer_ the goddamn question.”

“She _betrayed_ us, Echo – she betrayed us, and Nia doesn’t even _know_. She doesn’t –,”  
“ _Betrayed?_ That’s an awfully unforgiving word to be throwing around so carelessly –,”

“It’s true!! She rescued one of _them f_ rom the fire we set and ended up having to be saved by that _bitch_ who hides away in this fucking fortress of a city!! She’s been hiding away in that goddamned tower ever since.”

For all the poignant rage and self-assuredness oozing from every syllable out of her mouth, Ontari shouldn’t have sounded as desperate as she was now, seemingly splintering apart at the seams almost instantly after only the smallest amount of resistance to her plan. Clarke should’ve been encouraged by the sound of it.

She should’ve been.  

As it were, she was far too busy attempting to breathe through her countless injuries and a relentlessly racing heartrate.

_But, Echo…_

The warrior was supposed to be back in Azgeda with Prince Roan, serving at the queen’s bequest as interim general of Nia’s army in the absence of Gideon, the presiding general – whose current post was located by the queen’s side at all times. Echo was something of a legend as far as warriors were concerned, her prowess in battle and genius at strategy far superior to even some of the highest-regarded and most well-renowned soldiers Azgeda had to offer.

The fact that she was _here_ , in the Trikru capitol, defending _Clarke_ of all people from the queen’s known favorite… It was enough to send Clarke’s heart thundering at a pace that surely wasn’t sustainable for any human who wished to live a long and healthy life.

Pining never suited her much, anyways.  

“So, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve decided to take it upon yourself to become judge, jury, and executioner of a hapless girl who – by no fault of her own – was rescued by the person whose title _requires_ such a task of her regardless of clan affiliation,” Echo stated plainly, unceremoniously, sounding utterly bored of the conversation.

“She shouldn’t have _needed_ saving in the first place!!” Ontari nearly shouted, bristling immediately as desperation morphed into something far closer to petulance now. “It was her choice to run into that fire to save an _enemy_ –,”  
“And you really expect me to blame her for such a thing? For saving someone’s life when she had _no idea_ that she wasn’t supposed to?” Echo’s even disposition was quickly wearing thin, her growing hostility towards the other girl becoming more detectable in her tone by the second.

“I – w – she just – she should have _known!!_ She should have just figured –,”  
“That our clan would commit an inflammatory act in the midst of what is supposed to be a summit for peace?” Echo cut off Ontari’s rambling, her contempt plain now. “She knows our ways, it’s true, but to expect her to read our queen’s mind when she is nothing more than a  _foot soldier_ is like expecting a blade not to draw blood when you drag it across your own palm.”

_Okay,_ ouch… _Glad I didn’t get the chance to think too highly of myself here._

“Besides, you know just as well as I that killing one of our own for merely _existing_ in the presence of the Commander is only going to direct more suspicion and scrutiny in Nia’s direction – both of which will outweigh whatever praise she has left over for you.”

Ontari didn’t seem to have a response for that, the only sound that of a chorus of insects and woodland creatures cloaked by the night’s forgiving shadows.

Realizing that she’d gone completely still in the wake of Echo’s appearance, Clarke finally managed to work herself over onto her back, heaving labored breaths as even that small of an effort was enough to knock the wind out of her. She blinked through blood and sweat up at the starlit canopy above her head, a single resounding ache peaking and receding in waves throughout her entire body.

Clarke didn’t dare look at Ontari or Echo in her periphery, resigning herself to whatever fate lay ahead of her; after all, Echo was right – she _did_ know their clan’s ways, and if there was one Azgeda teaching she would live and quite possibly die by for however long she may live, it was that a warrior never makes a scene of their own death.

For, the only thing worse than death, itself, was dying in the shame and disgrace of a coward’s last plea.

(Clarke could think of a little over a thousand worse things than death, but that was really beside the point.)

“Leave her be and save our queen the trouble of explaining yet another bloodied body to the fools who’d tried to preserve it,” Echo spoke up finally, the statement more of a command than a friendly suggestion. “Better to keep the mice away from the elephant…”

Ontari grunted in frustration at that, her petulance apparently knowing no bounds as she appeared to kick at the pebbles near Clarke’s head like an angered child – outranked and outsmarted to a painfully obvious degree.

Clarke was simply confused.

“Save your fucking fables for someone who gives a damn,” Ontari barked, turning on her heels to direct one last brutal kick to Clarke’s ribcage before storming off to god-knows-where in all her graceless humiliation.

Clarke might’ve taken more pleasure in Ontari’s embarrassment had she not been busy _not dying_ after that pleasant little parting gift the warrior had left her with. She sputtered and heaved against lungs that were already devoid of oxygen, the organs having been forced to endure far more strain recently than was probably recommended for entire lifetimes.

Before she even had time to catch her breath, though, Echo was suddenly towering over her, looking down at Clarke with such thorough disdain she nearly cringed through her fit. The next moment, the warrior was leaning down, grasping Clarke by the scruff of her collar and lifting her slightly off the creek bed so that her head drooped back towards the ground – much like Ontari had done not too long before that.

“If you think for one moment that any of that was for _you_ , then perhaps I should just call Ontari back and have her kill you to be done with it,” Echo practically spat in her face, shaking Clarke a little as she bit out each word. “Alas, it’s been made clear to me that you’re needed alive for the time being – alive, and _indebted_ … To that end, consider me the collector.”

Clarke was just…. well, baffled, befuddled, _gobsmacked_ – all of the above.

_And in debt, apparently. Whatever the hell_ that  _means…_

Echo gave her a slow and distasteful once-over, clearly unimpressed with what she saw, tsking her disapproval before bringing Clarke even closer to her face. Her eyes bore directly into the girl’s soul then, searing and unyielding as she spoke the next words:

“Don’t even _think_ about dying before I can collect – understand me?”

_Hear the words coming out of your mouth, yes; understand them? Not in the slightest._

Clarke simply nodded, feeling the movement in all of her limbs as Echo roughly dropped her back onto the ground, the crown of Clarke’s head suddenly immersed in the frigid liquid of the creek. She didn’t bother to move, though, couldn’t muster the strength – all she could do was watch the warrior above her raise one last disapproving brow as she looked down at Clarke, rolling her eyes at the pathetic girl at her feet before stepping over the prone body and crunching across the creek bed.

And, just like that, Clarke was seemingly alone in the dead of night, somewhere out in unfamiliar woods with what felt like a splitting skull left to rot in icy waters.

Feeling her pulse throbbing in every inch of her frame, Clarke loosed a pained groan, the sound getting lost in the calm winds as blood and other liquids continued to obscure her vision. Not only could she not move for fear of crying out in agony from her injuries, but she was also apparently forbidden from dying for whatever reason by whoever the hell had sent Echo to save her miserable ass.

The list of Clarke’s responsibilities on the brink of demise only seemed to grow, and it was all she could do to simply keep breathing, staring up at the stars as if they might provide some guidance in the riddle that had become her existence…

 

_“You can’t keep on like this, Clarke – you’ll either wind up imprisoned for the rest of your miserable life or dead hanging by the skin of your neck!”_

_“Oh, don’t be so_ dramatic _, mom. It wasn’t that big of a –,”  
“That big of a deal?!” her mom cut her off, squaring up to Clarke with her hands on her hips as both of their voices rose far above that which was advisable at this time of night in their sector. “You struck Gideon’s _ son  _in the presence of the elders!! You let his meaningless words seep into your skin like needles –,”_

_“I couldn’t just stand there and let him talk about dad like that!! I wouldn’t!” Clarke practically shouted, her breaths coming out far quicker than she wanted them to as she allowed herself to be riled up by words yet again. “You would’ve done the same thing if you’d heard what he said.”  
Abby clenched her jaw at the tragic crack in Clarke’s voice, sensing the immediate change in her daughter’s demeanor almost as soon as it’d occurred. She stepped closer to the girl, hand outstretched as if to comfort, but Clarke turned her back and walked towards the small window on their outer wall, struggling immensely to control her breathing. _

_She just… She wouldn’t have it. She couldn’t. Clarke refused to allow her father’s memory to be disrespected by some privileged prat with only the slightest barrier of protection to his person due to the family name he bore. It just… it simply wouldn’t do._

_“Clarke, honey…” her mother spoke up after a while, voice significantly softer as it seemed to come from only a couple of feet behind her daughter’s back. “I get it – I really and truly do. You don’t know how many times I’ve had to bite my tongue –,” Abby cut herself off, swallowing against rising emotion as she spoke._

_“But it…it’s about more than just respect or an untarnished family name – it’s about_ survival _, Clarke. Self-preservation… You and I both know we’ve got to fight a lot harder than most to keep our heads above water right now.” A gentle hand fell onto Clarke’s shoulder then, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes, working her jaw against unwanted emotion as her mother fell silent._

_Clarke stared out the window, watching as innumerous flurries descended from the perpetually cloudy sky that seemed to encompass their kingdom at all times. She sighed a little, letting her head droop with exhaustion as her mother began to rub calming circles into the muscles of her shoulders._

_“I just…I hate the person that all of this has turned me into, mom,” Clarke finally admitted after a while, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I hate who I’ve_ become _since he_ –,” she swallowed, unable to continue. 

_“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Abby reassured immediately, moving to wrap her arms around Clarke’s waist as she rested her head on the girl’s shoulder. Clarke leaned back into the embrace, finding it harder with every passing moment to suppress everything she’d never allowed herself to feel._

_“Who we are and who we_ need _to be to survive are two very different things…”_

Yelling… Clarke heard yelling. Somewhere off in the distance – multiple voices.

It all sounded like it was being funneled through a cloth over her ears, a kind of tinny echo resounding throughout the entirety of her skull, and Clarke knew she was in for it.

Groaning, she forced herself onto her side, vaguely registering the frigid creek water that splashed up into her face. Her senses were too numbed to allow a proper reaction, though, the various hits she’d sustained making themselves known with growing poignancy.

Everything hurt.

Everything hurt, and she couldn’t even muster the strength to keep her head up, allowing it to droop back down into the water as she flopped gracelessly onto her stomach. Cool liquid hit her face at the point directly above her brow bone, and she closed her eyes, hoping on some distant star that the frigid temperature might act as some sort of pain-reliever to the throbbing in her head.

The voices were becoming a little clearer now, slightly closer.

“-arke? Clarke!”

Wells _._ One of many calling her name, the only one she recognized.

_Maybe not the only one…_

She couldn’t place him, but he was somewhere nearby, somewhere…

Everything was just so _fuzzy._

“ _Clarke!!_ She’s here!!”Much closer this time, more panicked.

The next thing she knew, a hand was grasping onto her shoulder and pulling her gently, painstakingly, until she was back onto her side. Wells was the first thing Clarke saw, the warrior having gotten onto his knees in the pebbles of the creek bed, crouched over so that he could be at eye level with her.

His _face_ … He looked utterly _terrified_ , his mouth agape as his eyes swam, wildly scanning every inch of her that he could see up close, clearly mortified by what he saw.

“Don’t move her!!” a different voice commanded – stern, clipped. “We cannot know the injuries she has sustained until Nyko sees to her.”

_Lexa._

The Commander sounded…well, frankly, _sub-arctic_ – colder than anything Clarke had ever been exposed to. The sound of it raised goosebumps over every inch of her.

Clarke was instantly confused.

Before she had time to process it, though, Wells was looking up and immediately scrambling a couple steps back, propping his hands on his knees as he appeared visibly shaken.

The next moment, his figure was obscured by the Commander, taking Clarke by surprise as she settled onto her knees like Wells had done – the most unexpected position for someone of her status and symbol to take. Clarke exhaled sharply as she forced herself onto her back, splashing more water into her hair as she struggled with everything she had to focus her gaze on the Commander.

What she saw forced the air out of her lungs harder than any hit Ontari could’ve ever landed on her.

It was the Commander, but it also….wasn’t.

She was kneeling before Clarke in tight black pants and a grey sleeping tunic – as if she’d haphazardly thrown on the pants and decided to hell with the shirt – and her hair was cascading over her shoulders in loose waves, completely free of braids. She wore her usual black boots which, again, appeared as though they were more of an afterthought than a necessity. There were no weapons visible on her person from what Clarke could discern, but she knew that didn’t mean much of anything when it came to someone like the Commander.

What struck Clarke the most, though, was the girl’s face. Her features, while completely bare of paint, were contorted into an expression that Clarke was struggling to fathom, something she couldn’t even _begin_ to process…

For some reason, the only comparison Clarke could draw was to that of the look her mother had given her as she’d lain bleeding out on the floor of what had once been their family home – as if she’d been resigned to her death up until the moment she realized that it meant she’d have to leave Clarke without her protection. As if, in her final moments of life, Abby Griffin had finally realized what it was like to experience all-encompassing _dread_ …

It was something like that, only it was so much more… _jolting_ to see on this particular face – this stranger’s face.

_Lexa’s_ face…

The Commander’s mouth parted as she appeared to suck in a shallow breath, her hand coming out as if to comfort in some way. She retracted it just an inch from the side of Clarke’s face, though, her jaw snapping shut as something indiscernible flashed across her gaze.

The next moment, the Commander was looking away from Clarke, her features falling into shadow as moonlight caught on her profile. The girl’s jaw was pulled so tightly that Clarke was afraid it might snap, and the sight of such a physical display of unspoken emotion pressed rather aggressively against Clarke’s chest for whatever reason.

“Have Nyko ready the healing transport immediately –,”

“ _No,”_ Clarke forced out, abruptly cutting the Commander off as the girl was turned to address Wells. The both of them whipped around instantly to gape at Clarke, the Commander’s brows furrowed as though she didn’t quite hear the girl properly.

“No transport…no _healing_. _”_ The words felt like blades scraping against her raw throat, and Clarke found herself grasping at pebbles with her damaged hands – as if that might ground her to her resolve somehow. “Go… You have to _go.”_

The Commander and Wells were wearing almost polar opposite expressions now – Wells, the personification of disbelief and incredulousness, scraped raw in his emotion; the Commander, a banked storm left at bay, just beyond unreadable.

“What are you –? You can’t possibly –,”  
“If you help me,” Clarke breathed, cutting through Wells’s stammering with as much steel as she’d ever mined before, “she will know. And she won’t…spare me next time.”

_Not gonna specify who_ she  _is, ‘cause it could be any number of people at this point…_

Wells was shaking his head, blinking rapidly as the cogs of his mind visibly ground before Clarke’s eyes. His gaze was watery, devastated, and it sat at the base of Clarke’s chest like a leaden weight – immovable.

The Commander, on the other hand, was utterly and completely implacable – as though her expression had become suspended in between emotions the moment Clarke had objected to being saved… Clarke had never seen anything like it before, had never seen someone exercise such expert control over the faculties that would typically render less-disciplined souls vulnerable to the side effects of human reaction.

It was as fascinating as it was disheartening...

“Wells, gather the sentries and lead the warriors back to the tower,” the Commander fired off out of nowhere, her tone flat and unyielding. Her face was still as unreadable as ever. “See to it yourself that all the supply rooms are securely locked – and take my guards with you to double the post at my door.”

Wells simply stared at the girl, utterly dumb-founded as she kept her gaze glued to Clarke. He shuffled nervously on his feet, his mouth dropping open as though that might trigger a response.

“I…That would leave you completely unprotected, Commander, and I –,”

“I know where that would leave me,” the Commander interrupted him brutally, coolly, giving nothing away but frigid steel. “Take the warriors and _go_. I will not be questioned further.”

Wells seemed to short-circuit at that, stuttering to compliance as he bowed in respect before shooting Clarke one last tragic glance in prelude to his departure.

A wave of something like nausea swept over Clarke as Wells turned his back to her. She closed her eyes and clenched a damaged fist against its power as her heart thundered through her skull. An agonized groan escaped through her gridlocked teeth, sounding far too pathetic for Clarke’s liking.

Barely more than a moment later, Clarke heard the rustle of pebbles and a gentle swish of water as she felt her head being lifted gently onto firm thighs. Opening her eyes just enough to slice through the blackness, Clarke was only somewhat alarmed to find Lexa staring down at her, the Commander’s eyes scanning her features with grave intensity. The fervor of it… It scraped right to the core of Clarke’s being, leaving her bone-weary and vulnerable to all manner of attack.

That simply wouldn’t do.

“See something you like?” Clarke rasped out after a while, concentrating her very last wits to force levity. The Commander made easy work of the end of her tunic, reaching to soak the strip of fabric in the freezing river before moving to clean the wounds on Clarke’s face.

The comment went all-but ignored, a flash of something imperceptible the only sign that Lexa had even heard her at all.

“What happened?” the Commander shot back instead, her voice level, far quieter than before. Clarke hissed as the cold water met a particularly tender gash on her cheekbone, the Commander’s movements hesitating just a fraction as Clarke waited for the wave of pain to pass.

“Ontari…,” Clarke trailed off, hoping the name would register and spare her the introduction. The shadow that immediately fell across the Commander’s face at the name told Clarke everything she needed to know. “Thought she’d take a few personal vendettas out on my face, I guess… Nearly finished the job, too – would have if not for Echo.”

The Commander’s movements abruptly halted at the name, her eyes glossing over momentarily as she noticeably fought a reaction. Even with the immediate blankness that befell Lexa’s face, though, Clarke instantly knew that the two had some unspoken history that she probably had no right to know – would pry into at a later date, nonetheless…

Silence overtook the two of them once more, broken only by the chirps of insects and the various choirs of nature as the moon and stars continued to gleam and twinkle far above their heads. The Commander was noticeably avoiding Clarke’s gaze now, seemingly lost in her work of tending to Clarke’s wounds as the girl stared at her, utterly obvious in her gawking.

Clarke was waiting for the part where she would get an explanation – waiting for the other girl to tell her just how and why she decided to send her protective detail off to bed like frightened children while she remained behind to care for a wounded enemy soldier who amounted to nothing more than a bug on the underside of the Commander’s boot when all was said and done. Clarke was waiting for more questions, for more scheming attempts to force her to reveal the inner workings of her clan’s way of life – give her a reason to forego any sort of alliance with such barbarians and simply head to war. She was waiting for the blood-thirsty demon she’d always heard so much about, sitting atop her throne of corpses and animosity, simply itching to wipe out the only viable adversary outside of the Mountain that would ever rise to meet the Commander’s legacy.

She was waiting, but all she got was silence – gentle hands, healing strokes, and tenderness.

All she got was _Lexa_.

“You’re not…going to ask me what I did? The reason I’ve got such a target on my ass all the time?” The questions came out far quieter than Clarke had intended, every word laced with a genuine sort of uncertainty that Clarke nearly cursed herself for revealing to the other girl.

Much to her never-ending surprise, though, Lexa simply shook her head, wordlessly continuing her gentle ministrations as Clarke’s gaze burned holes into the girl’s profile.

It went on like that for countless minutes more, Clarke staring in utter bewilderment at the Commander while the girl continued to tend Clarke’s wounds with what little supplies she had. In the back of her mind, Clarke wondered why Lexa hadn’t thought to ask her healer to leave some medical supplies behind – if only for the selfish pondering of it all – but she supposed a command like that would’ve required some sort of forethought, nothing of which Clarke believed had been given to this particular decision, oddly enough. Had it been anyone else who’d stayed behind to save her – anyone of lesser rank, she should say – Clarke would’ve chalked it up to a weak spot for sad sights, maybe even a little microcosm of altruism shining through a tenuous macrocosm of diplomacy. But this was…. _different._

This was not good.

“Why are you helping me?” Clarke finally asked after far too long spent in strained silence. “If you had any respect for your own self-preservation, you’d –,”

“I don’t,” Lexa cut her off quietly, matter-of-factly. She finally met Clarke’s gaze with a levelness that hadn’t been present before, that seemed to have taken quite a bit of energy to conjure up. “A Commander knows nothing of such things. My duty is to my people, first and foremost – _always_.”

“Then why the hell did you stay behind like this?” Clarke shot back immediately, hotly, the heat of her gaze going directly against that of the Commander’s that seemed to grow fierier by the second. “You heard what I said – I’m dead in the dust if anyone from my clan finds out about _any_ of this, let alone that the _Commander_ , herself, is helping me –,”

“Are you not one of my people?” Lexa cut her off abruptly, harshly, eyes lighting the way to a trap of Clarke’s own making. “Am I not sworn to put your life before my own? To put your needs above mine as your Commander, regardless of what that might mean for my own safety?”

Clarke ground her teeth together, mentally kicking herself for setting up the punchline as another wave of pain passed over her, leaving her dizzy. She looked away from the Commander for a moment, determining that a break from their staring contest might…help, somehow.

_Logical, Clarke. Utterly and nonsensically logical…_

“Maybe your lot should’ve thought about that so-called ‘sworn oath’ before they cast my people out of these lands like a pack of rabid _dogs_.” It was barely more than a whisper, a bitter admission of old resentments not soon forgotten, but it was enough to make the Commander go stone-like in her stillness.

Clarke couldn’t bear to look at the other girl’s face, knowing all too well that she’d have done better to just turn over and suffocate herself in the frigid waters for all that snipe would cost her. She closed her eyes against the urge to look to the Commander like a guilty child, steadying herself in wait for some final sentence to be handed down…

“I may bear the spirits of the Commanders within my blood – and I will defend their legacy ‘till my dying breath and far beyond – but it was not _I_ who ordered your people to the ice.”

Clarke’s eyes snapped open at this, immediately locking on to Lexa’s so seemingly transfixed on Clarke. The warrior gulped, eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to swallow back the strange lump that’d suddenly formed at the basis of her airway. The Commander was unrelenting, gazing at Clarke with such emblazoned fervor that Clarke began to wonder if _this_ was the trap she’d created for herself all along.

“Your queen may view me and whoever sits atop the throne after me however she likes – my reputation is neither my concern nor that of any who bore and will bear the title of Commander in the future… However, the well-being of my people – _all_ of my people – is and will always be my primary concern –,”

“You send countless warriors to die for you on a daily basis if need be,” Clarke cut her off slowly, deliberately, making sure to taste every word in her mouth before it passed through her lips. “If what you’re saying is really true, then I’m just another one of those warriors, aren’t I? Another one of those people whose sole purpose is to go _die_ for you?”

Had she been paying even the slightest bit less of attention, she might not have noticed the way Lexa’s lips parted slightly in something like bewilderment at the interruption, how she kept exhaling as if every word Clarke spoke was a punch to her gut...

“Even if that wasn’t the case – and bear with me for this next bit, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t consider myself to be much of a diplomat here – I know for a _fact_ that one life isn’t worth jeopardizing whatever it is you’re trying to build between our clans right now. Especially not when it’s _my own people_ trying to kill me…”

Lexa was frozen above Clarke now, every part of her save the quickened pulse in her neck utterly and completely still. There wasn’t a single inch of her expression that Clarke could latch on to, could read even the slightest bit into in order to find out just how sealed her fate was at this point. It was as if every ounce of the wildfire that’d been burning across Lexa’s features had suddenly been replaced by the glacial steel of one of the Commander’s long swords, and Clarke couldn’t _breathe_ –

Without warning, the Commander was suddenly on her feet, stock-still and towering above Clarke with that wintry shadow still covering every one of her features. The next moment, though, she was looking away from Clarke, turning so that her face was obscured by darkness as her posture straightened to an impossible degree.

“It should not surprise me that you view the demands of my position in such a light – that you believe I could ever truly just send my warriors to go _die_ for me without a second thought…” Clarke could not make a single detail out of Lexa’s expression, but her voice told enough stories to last a lifetime – and such bleak tales they were.

“But, despite what you may think, I am _not_ in favor of trading lives for strategic victories without proper cause, nor do I take pride or _pleasure_ in the instances that I must do so.”

There was something in Lexa’s voice, something… _broken_. It was enough to give Clarke pause as she considered how the Commander’s profile seemed to war against the shadows that so desperately sought to swallow her whole – how apt the personification.

“Is that not what leaders do, though?” Clarke pondered after a while, breaking the thick silence between them with barely more than a whisper. “Trade lives for the greater good and all, I mean? Is that not _why_ you’re a leader? ‘Cause you’re far better equipped to make that trade than anyone else when it comes time to do so – what with your grand _vision_ and all that fun stuff?”

Lexa was fully facing Clarke once again, her head slightly cocked to the side as she seemed to be appraising the warrior for everything she was worth in that moment. The subarctic shadow on the Commander’s features had now been replaced by a sort of vibrant buzzing, a constant whirring of emotions as they flashed across her face far too quickly to discern. Clarke simply returned the gaze, working as much genuine curiosity into her expression as she could muster for all her growing aches and pains that seemed to be making themselves more and more known by the second.

When it became evident that Lexa was not going to answer her questions – at least, not _verbally_ – Clarke simply sighed, shrugging a little as she forced a bit of nonchalance back into her strained posture.

_Things are far too brooding for my liking, anyways –_

“What if I told you that I did not know?” the Commander finally spoke up, her voice just as soft as Clarke’s had been – barely detectable over the easy rushing of the water behind Clarke’s head.

Lexa took a step toward Clarke then, crouching down once more and resting her forearms on her bent knees. Her expression was exceptionally distant now, far more foreign and implacable than it’d ever been.

Clarke’s heart fell to see it.

“What if I told you that I have no more of an idea as to why _I_ am the one marked for leadership down to my very veins, just as _you_ are unsure as to why you were born into a position that might force you to die for me one day?”

Clarke simply stared at Lexa for a moment, allowing the girl’s words to seep into every cut in her skin as green eyes waded through troubled waters far above. For the first time in what had to be her life, Clarke found herself remarkably speechless…

It was only then that Clarke realized that she was holding onto an end of the Commander’s long coat, apparently having grabbed onto the fabric in the midst of such troubling revelations. Despite knowing far better, Clarke allowed a crooked smile to work at the corners of her lips, looking away from Lexa’s face and down to where she was rubbing the coat between her thumb and forefinger. The other girl’s eyes on her were like a physical presence all their own at this point.

“Then I’d say…we both deserve one hell of a drink.” Clarke directed her smile back up at the Commander with that, hoping to re-discover her comfort zone of levity amidst all that which pushed and prodded at her so. “To ignorance – or simply not knowing, perhaps.”

Lexa stared at her for painful moments more, completely unmoved by the attempt as Clarke finally started to feel like she was really and truly on her back at this point. Not a moment longer than Clarke’s pride would allow for, though, the Commander’s lips twitched into that of the smallest of smiles, hidden for most but visible to the one who needed it most in that moment.

“Are they not one and the same?” Lexa asked after a beat, settling down more easily beside Clarke as she moved to dip the cloth that’d been tucked in her fist back into frigid waters.

Clarke could’ve cried out in relief the moment those careful ministrations resumed, but she withheld, acting in favor of her pride once again.

“Nah – there’s something far too intentional about ignorance if you ask me,” Clarke replied easily, feeling almost lightheaded with giddiness as they seemed to be returning to more solid ground.

“That seems…contradictory,” the Commander allowed after a moment, every word containing a different sort of softness as she wiped over a particularly sore spot, causing Clarke to fight back a wince. “But I suppose I shall just have to take your word for it.”  
Clarke’s smile widened as that giddiness seemed to cover her brain in fog, slowing her faculties and slurring her next words:

“I suppose you shall.”

That beautifully hidden smile on full lips was the last thing Clarke processed in her hazy mind before lightheadedness turned to blackness once more.

 

 

\---

 

 

“She looks dead.”

“Well, that’s probably ‘cause she’s supposed to be, O.” A voice like gravel, deep and reverberating every which way like an impending stampede – Clarke recognized it immediately.

With far more difficulty than should’ve been fair, Clarke blinked her eyes open, somewhat taken aback to find the faces of Octavia and Bellamy Kom Trikru hovering mere inches above her own.

“Ever heard of personal space, kids?” Clarke quipped through her own fair share of throat blockage, doing her best not to let it show on her face as the sibling warriors sized her up in their own special ways.

The Trikru soldiers shifted back slightly upon seeing Clarke awaken, sharing a weighted look as Clarke attempted to get her bearings. Octavia was all hostility with a touch of weariness in the crease of her brow where Bellamy sat mostly aloof, a twinkle of bemusement in his eyes mingling with a fierceness that Clarke supposed was reserved for her should she make even the slightest move toward his sister.

The two of them were crouched above Clarke where she appeared to be sprawled on a floor mat of some kind, heads backlit by a couple of dimming torches in a relatively bare-bones tent. Both wore the multi-layered and earthy-toned uniforms of Trikru, various weapons hanging off their frames in different places.

“You owe us big time, you know,” Octavia spoke up after a moment, her voice sounding as if it came through gritted teeth. She adjusted her crouch slightly, appearing to loom even more threateningly over Clarke now as her eyes glinted with violent promise.

“Oh do I, now?” Clarke retorted immediately, speaking before processing the fact that she was most definitely in their tent at the moment – with the low-ground, no less.

_But, why? And where the hell is the Commander?_

(She tried not to notice the pang of utter disappointment as she processed the second question, feeling Lexa’s absence like a tangible ache in her gut.)

Before she could even attempt to voice a question, Octavia was grabbing her by the scruff of her collar – a move which Clarke was growing increasingly tired of – and hoisting her closer to the glare that’d transformed the warrior’s beautiful face.

“Oh yeah, you do,” Octavia spat, shaking Clarke a little as she flashed her teeth like a wild animal, “because without us, you’d be dead by that creek where your people left you, and no one would’ve even known about it.”  
“Is this so-called ‘ _us_ ’ the colloquial ‘us,’ like, ‘ _we the clan of Trikru and our Trikru Commander_ ,’ or are we talking ‘us’ as in you and your brother – ‘cause if it’s the latter, then I might have a few questions for you –,”  
Clarke’s rambling was interrupted by an agitated growl from Octavia, the warrior making to draw her blade and apparently silence Clarke by force over allowing her to finish the question. Before she could see to it, though, Bellamy had his sister by the shoulder, shaking his head once with a hard press to his lips.

“You know what the Commander said, O – we don’t touch her.” Octavia scoffed at that, refusing to move her glare from Clarke as Bellamy kept a hold of her.

“And since when have you ever passed up the opportunity to rough up a piece of shit from the Ice Nation?”

“Since our Commander ordered us not to,” Bellamy responded immediately, tone hard and unyielding. He looked from his sister’s scowling face to Clarke’s bloodied one, grimacing a little at what he saw – and, perhaps, picturing what would happen if he let Octavia have her way.

So, Lexa _had_ been here…

 “Besides, it’s a lot less fun to rough them up when they’ve already gotten the shit beaten out of them… Why don’t you just take a breather, O? Save your anger for someone who actually deserves it – let me handle this one.”  
Octavia positively _glared_ at her brother at this, jaw working as she considered her options. Bellamy refused to budge, though, meeting her glare with ease as she appeared to turn various scenarios over in her mind – picturing a number of different ways to make Clarke’s life harder, no doubt.

Clarke simply stared between the two of them, allowing her eyes to drift from one to the other as her heartrate increased with each breath.

_Can I take them? I mean, I know for a_ fact _that Octavia’s got one hell of a punch, but let’s just say she had the element of surprise – and_ audacity _– on her side last time._

_What about Bellamy, though, huh? That guy’s all muscle and barely-contained protective instinct – how do you plan on handling_ that? _Throw a rock at his head and hope on some far-off star that you can run faster than him – maybe even feign a premature heart attack for sympathy –?_

Before Clarke could answer her own stupidity, she was cut short by the dramatic huff of Octavia as the warrior rose to her feet and spun on her heels, practically stomping to the entrance of the small tent and ripping her way out of the flaps. Clarke quirked a brow in amusement as she watched the girl disappear, wincing a little as even _that_ was too much for her face at the moment.

“She seems fun,” Clarke quipped after a short while spent in silence, Bellamy’s gaze snapping back to her face where it’d been glued to the tent’s entrance. He narrowed his eyes at her, jaw twitching almost imperceptibly.

“Don’t start.” Short and to the point – _noted_.

Clarke simply pursed her lips, disheartened when that, too, proved too much for her to handle without a twinge of pain.

_Hard to have a personality when your whole entire face doesn’t want to work right…_

Pointlessly, fruitlessly, Clarke looked around the tent once more, hoping for some sort of solution or clue as to how she’d even gotten there in the first place. Her weapons were apparently nowhere to be found, and the tent looked like it’d been stripped of quite literally everything except for the floor mat Clarke was currently occupying.

_So, maybe this isn’t these warriors’ tent after all…_

_Only way to find out is to ask, right?_

_Remember, Clarke, tact – use it. Ease into things, build rapport, get the conversation flowing naturally, all that jazz._

“You two seem…close,” Clarke spoke up again after the tense pause, doing her best to remember how to converse with other human beings in a non-threatening manner – a skill which had never really been her specialty save for her surface-level charms. “Are you twins?”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes even further at that, making a point of rolling them as he moved to sit more comfortably on the ground, arms thrown haphazardly over his knees.

“Hardly,” he retorted flatly, raising a brow at Clarke as she continued to stare at him.

A pesky sort of silence fell between the two of them once more, and Clarke narrowed her eyes right back at him, allowing her stubbornness to take over as she refused to give him the satisfaction of asking a follow-up. Instead, she elected to make a job out of counting the freckles dusting his cheekbones beneath that dark floppy hair and stern set to his brows.

Clarke had gotten to seventeen when Bellamy finally huffed in exasperation, rolling his eyes once more as he spoke again.

“She’s seven years younger than me and we have different fathers – is that good enough for you?”

Clarke shrugged a little, easily bracing herself for the pain that followed as she continued to eye Bellamy. His eyes were a deep chestnut and far too easy to read – just like his sister’s. He was all annoyance and maybe the slightest bit curious – the tiniest bit malleable towards good graces, perhaps…

_Oh, to hell with tact._

“Where am I? Why am I here?” Clarke fired off quietly, lowering her voice to barely more than audible so as not to attract the ears of Octavia who no doubt lingered nearby. “And where is the Commander?”

Bellamy had looked un-phased until the last question, bristling on his haunches as soon as mention of his beloved leader came up. He angled his head a little bit as if considering Clarke for a moment, his mouth a hard line.

“What makes you think she had anything to do with –?”

“Oh, cut the crap – I know she was the one who brought me here.” Bellamy fixed her with a steely glare, utterly rigid in his silence all of a sudden. Clarke rolled her eyes at the show of loyalties.

“Look, I’m clearly at a disadvantage when it comes to quite literally _everything_ at the moment, but I’ve got enough of my wits about me to know that the dressings on my wounds have been changed at least once since whoever first put them on, and my mouth is barely more than dry right now... I know you and your sister have been taking care of me for however long, and I know the Commander was the one who ordered you to do it – you said so yourself.” Clarke shifted a little bit, doing her best to unleash every bit of sincerity on him that she knew she contained.

The more surface level trust she could foster between herself and this brooding warrior from her enemy clan, the better.

“All I’m asking is for you to fill in the details. You don’t even have to speak in complete sentences – in fact, you can _grunt_ for all I care so long as I get what I’m asking for.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes once more, looking away from Clarke and clenching his jaw where the shadows were thrown from his profile. From what Clarke could discern in the limited capacity she could make out his expression, the warrior looked stuck between a rock and a hard place, duty-bound to some unknown degree to keep quiet while simultaneously warring with the smallest of requests for human decency.

Clarke knew the feeling all too well…

“You’ve been out of it on-and-off for two days,” Bellamy spoke up finally, breaking the thick silence in a near-whisper – still refusing to look at Clarke. “The Commander brought you here herself, asked me and Octavia to clear out a tent for you, and told us to make sure you were cared for as long as was necessary.” He looked back at Clarke then, a number of emotions crossing his features as he appeared to be sizing her up once again.

“We couldn’t ask questions, and we can’t tell anyone you’re here.” He shrugged, a smug grin spreading across his features as Clarke returned his gaze in confusion. “And that’s about all I’ve got as far as details go – all that I can tell _you_ , that is.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him, feeling the intense urge to reach out and smack him but knowing that would probably result in the loss of a finger on her part.

As it were, tact was getting her absolutely _nowhere_ and she’d completely lost track of the days between one bout of unconsciousness and another, which meant that she had no idea what her clan was up to or when they were supposed to be leaving – not that she knew any of that to begin with, but it was easier to pretend before.

Now, not only was Clarke severely injured and left completely at the mercy of two enemy soldiers who _really_ didn’t seem to like her too much, but she also had no idea when or how she was supposed to get back to her people without winding up closer to death than she already was now.

_Not that any of the trouble spent saving your own ass is going to matter a year from now, considering your death appointment has already been booked. But, hey, why not get yourself into as many ridiculous predicaments as possible before you die, right? Mama always said there’s no fun in an uncomplicated life._

_She never said any of that, but –_

A scuffle outside of the tent snapped Clarke out of her spiraling thoughts, gaze catching on Bellamy who was immediately on his feet and heading to the entrance. Before Clarke could even _breathe i_ n that direction, though, the warrior was being pushed back into the tent by none other than Wells, Octavia right on the warrior’s heels with a positively _livid_ expression on her face.

Upon seeing Clarke sprawled on the mat in her presumably delicate state, Wells drew a sharp breath, his expression only slightly less volatile when measured against Octavia’s. Bellamy simply looked bewildered.

“Wells?” Clarke spoke up after a moment, forcing herself up onto her elbows despite the screaming protests from her entire body. “What’s going on? What are you –?”

“Your queen has rejected the Commander’s proposal for peace,” Wells cut her off abruptly, his eyes hard and jaw clenched.

Bellamy’s demeanor changed instantly with the reveal, his gaze flitting to his sister before turning on Clarke, fixing her with a hostile glare – as if _she_ had something to do with the failed negotiations.

Wells stepped beyond the fuming siblings, making his way over to Clarke as he continued:  
“War is being threatened if Azgeda doesn’t leave the capitol within the hour – Commander’s orders. Nothing will be able to stop my people from killing yours if they don’t… I’m getting you out of here _now_.”

He bent to scoop her up into a bridal-style hold before she could even formulate a reaction to anything he was saying.

“Wh-what are you – where are you taking me? Wha –?”

“Back to your people,” Wells cut her off quickly, side-stepping the two furious Trikru warriors and walking out into the cool night air. “I’m taking you home, Clarke.”

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...is anyone still here?  
>  Lmao I'm so sorry for the longer wait this time around!! Life got hectic towards the end of the semester, but guess what? I'm officially a college graduate now!! (:  
> Let the real world commence, right?  
> Hope you're all doing well!! I'd love to hear from you if you're so inclined.  
> Until next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely experimenting with a slightly different characterization of Clarke here. I'm interested to hear your thoughts, and thanks to anyone who took the time to read this (((:
> 
> come yell into the void w me on tumblr if you'd like ~ @spiceydiceyboi


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